Life An Experiment
by kwritten
Summary: In an AU collection of short stories and one-shots: ""If everything is fiction, then nothing is real." ... Dawn didn't skip a beat, "If everything is real, then nothing is fiction." NOTE 11/7/2012 - NEW CHAPTER, set in the same storyline as "Late Nights, Early Mornings"
1. Introduction

Introduction

She drew a deep breath, put pen to paper, and began to write. Her hand was unsteady at first, it had been too long since anyone she knew had held a physical pen, a fact of the age that did not exempt her. She wrote without fear or trepidation. She had been warned against this act for longer than any of her casual acquaintances would believe.

But it came so easily. The words flowed onto the almost ancient sheets of paper that cost more than she could afford, had she not had boxes of them stashed away for this moment.

The feeling of the ball in the pen gliding over the thin paper got smoother as her hand adjusted to the feel of it. The act of writing, it was a luxury in this world. A tingle in her hand told her that the adjustment would take time, but the slight cramping was so opulent, so familiar and intoxicating.

She could have just written the alphabet, or her name, over and over with pleasure. Such pleasure.

But this story, her story, had to be told at least once in her own words. It was dangerous to do so, she knew this. Writing it all down, the implications of it were more than any could understand.

She had hidden from the task, had cut herself off from her desire to write, to create, to understand the world she lived in through reflection.

Because it was dangerous.

So she had been told. And monitored. They watched her always. "They" changed over the years. Men, women, the power-hungry, the religious, the criminally insane. Always under the same name. Always with the same purpose in mind.

To keep her enclosed. To stop her from writing.

To stop her pleasure, her creativity.

She smiled to herself. Had anyone been watching, the smile would have been described as on the edge of maniacal. The smile of a villainous from an ancient cartoon.

She caught, out of the corner of her eye, her reflection in a nearby window. Her grin widened.

Villain?

For them, she can do that. It's been a long time coming.


	2. Chapter One

The first night after the explosion Buffy, Xander, Willow, and Giles had disappeared into the desert, leaving Faith and Dawn in a tiny county hospital waiting room. That first long night with Faith, waiting to hear if Robin was going to live, waiting for the pain of so many losses to dissipate, to ebb away, without knowing where Buffy and the other were, guarded by the few remaining Slayers. Dawn and Faith held each other, Dawn's sobs only giving way in order for her to wipe away Faith's silent tears. Robin Wood didn't see another sunrise and Dawn could almost feel Faith's emotional shield harden when the surgeon brought the news. In that moment, Dawn held Faith in her arms as if she were a child and not a warrior. As the sun rose, Dawn steeled herself shying away from the light, trying not to harden, but as Faith sobbed into her chest, she thought of all the wounds that would never heal. They were all child-warriors now, after bringing a city to rubble none of those that remained would ever be fully one or the other. Forced into war too soon, they could never go back and part of them would never go forward. Once it had been one girl in all the world, then a girl and her friends, then two girls, and now thousands. Dawn closed her eyes, hundreds of thousands of women and girls thrust into a world they could not have imagined a mere 24 hours previous. They were neither lucky, nor victims, but something rather in between – _Slayers_.

Slayers and the people who loved them.

She realized, sometime after Faith collapsed into sleep on her lap, that her feelings of isolation the past three years were just the beginning. Three years, it was all her whole mortal life amounted to. How could someone feel so ancient and so new simultaneously? In the beginning, at the start of her life, she had felt alone and misunderstood. How much of that was confused teenage hormones and how much of it was her helpless grasping onto a reality she had no means of traversing? Then, she had had so many people around her who loved her, even if they didn't understand how to help. Anya, after her initial jealous reaction, became a great friend, though always a little distant. Her mother, however briefly, had loved her with a pureness that was impossible to deny. Tara… the thought of Tara, just feeling the sounds her name made in Dawn's mind, pierced through her and she nearly gasped aloud.

_Tara_. Tara had understood, had been her comfort and shelter after her mother's death, after Buffy's death, after the tower and Glory… She had chosen Dawn, wrapped her up in her love completely and effortlessly. Willow's magic everyone noticed, it was darkness and lightness and strength. Tara's no one felt like Dawn had. It was quiet and subtle; when Tara walked into a room her whole body seemed to fill with warmth. She knew it was purposeful, that it was magic, because it left an aftertaste in her mind and the back of her throat, like toothpaste and oranges. When Tara came upon Dawn without warning, she could feel her magic, smell it in the air like lilies and warm rain. And then Dawn would remember where she was, and her senses would become muddled. Willow's magic smelled almost buttery, a little nutty, it was richer and thicker than Tara's light, airy magic. Sometimes Dawn could even sense Buffy's power, if she concentrated hard on not focusing on anything, in the corner of her mind something would buzz, a very slight sense of earth, moss, and berries. She had thought of asking Giles about it, and had hedged a few rhetorical questions at Anya, but her small family had broken apart, splintered in sudden random bursts, she could never be sure who belonged at any given time… and now... She stroked Faith's hair in the lonely waiting room, and as she started to drift to sleep she felt Faith's power, suddenly bursting into her consciousness, all barley and sweat, and a hint of lemon. It was bitter and sour, but strong and unyielding, Dawn took comfort in it, succumbing to sleep and Faith's power in the same blissful moment.

When they woke, Buffy and the others were still gone, but there were still a handful of Slayers nervously needing attention and guidance. Dawn stared at them coldly in the white hospital hallway, knowing that the power Buffy had meant to share would be a burden longer than she could anticipate. Dawn grabbed Faith's hand and together they worked through the endless minutes of that long first day. It was blurry, all Dawn remembered afterwards was Faith by her side: the two of them nursing wounds, holding terrified girls, directing the healthy and strong to get supplies, food, and shelter. Each hour was a lifetime and Dawn didn't even have time to marvel at Faith's maternal instincts suddenly blossoming with a fierceness no one could ever had expected. Buffy and the others appeared at their motel minutes after sunset and almost immediately disappeared into one of the rooms to rest. Dawn checked in on them later and found Buffy, Willow, and Xander curled up around each other on the bed, while Giles shouted into the motel phone in the bathroom at what Dawn could only assume was another Watcher. Faith had pulled Dawn away from the slightly open door and had led her into the room next door. Silently the two girls had pulled off their dirty, sweaty outer clothes and climbed into the bed together, their limbs intertwined through the night. Each girl had their own nightmares to contend with and held the other close, trying even in sleep to shield the other from the darkness and bitterness that surrounded their hearts.

On the second morning, Dawn woke early, before the sunrise and thought she smelled the faint whiff of smoke. _Spike_. No. It wasn't him. It couldn't be. She walked to the window and peered through the blinds, outside on the landing she could hear a man talking into his cell phone, smoking a cigarette casually. Her eyes stung with unshed tears for this, her last lost. She inhaled quickly and shook her head. Not yet, she wasn't ready yet. This loss would require time and silence.

She hurriedly picked up the clothing tossed carelessly to the ground the previous night and in her panties and bra, padded to the bathroom and set to work washing them by hand. When Faith peeked in at her a few hours later, they were as clean as she could get them, but still a little damp. Dawn had already showered, and as she blow dried her long hair, she also angled the hand dryer towards the clothes occasionally. Faith nodded at her and silently stripped out of her own underwear and hopped into the shower. Dawn pretended not to hear Faith's muffled tears hovering under the crashing of the shower water.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Faith's shower was obviously not very hot, as the mirror didn't fog up hardly at all, and Dawn was able to stare, stare deep into her own eyes, until her face became just a mess of geometric shapes. Suddenly, she pulled a pair of scissors out of the first aid kit set out on the counter and pulled her hair all in a clump behind her and cut. Faith stared at her, the towel wrapped under her arms. A mass of hair fell to the ground and Dawn started to shake, Faith took up the scissors without a word. After a few minutes the damage Dawn had done was now a styled bob with layers and bangs that fell over her right eye. She didn't even marvel at this before unknown talent of Faith's, nor did she thank her. The silence between the two of them was too comfortable. Faith plucked at Dawn's shorn locks with girlish pleasure and the two grinned at each other in the mirror.

They got dressed, Dawn in Faith's clothes and Faith in Dawn's. They had no other options and there was no way Dawn could face another day in the same outfit, nor was there time or the emotional energy for shopping. Faith obviously felt the same way, and though each could have barbed at the other for their respective lack of style, it seemed too soon for such a joke. Dawn used the in-room coffee machine to start up a pot and Faith turned the television to a cartoon Dawn remembered watching once – it seemed an eon ago – with her mother in the living room.

Lost as she was in her bittersweet reverie, Dawn started when someone knocked on the door. It was still before sunrise and she had not anticipated any of the traumatized Slayers to venture out of their rooms for another hour or so. And the Scoobies were so lost in their own grief Dawn couldn't contemplate that even Buffy was on the other side of that door. Faith was sitting crosslegged on the small table in the room near the window, with a cup of strong coffee in one hand, and a local paper spread over the table haphazardly. She uncurled herself and walked casually to the door, Dawn's body tensed, ready to flee if necessary. After peeking through the peep hole in the door, Faith looked back at Dawn surreptitiously before throwing the door open wide and stepping away quickly. Standing in the doorway was Oz.

Dawn stared in disbelief. _Oz?_

He smiled at Faith shyly and stepped in, carefully closing the door behind him. The two girls stared at him in shock, Dawn rose and stood close to Faith.

"Did Will-" Faith finally choked out while Dawn simultaneously whispered, "Willow's not -"

He interrupted both of them with a wave of his hand and threw his arms around both girls, "I'm so glad you're both alive." Faith and Dawn tensed. Oz was not the hugging type, and as physical as both girls were, after their two days alone, another's touch surprised and shocked them both. Dawn pulled back first, and saw the look on Oz's face: shock, mixed with something akin to pity. Faith smiled down at the werewolf and patted his shoulder.

"How's Tibet?" she said as she walked back to her perch on the table.

"You'd be surprised," he said. He suddenly directed a piercing gaze toward Dawn, "You've been making quite a stir."

Faith deliberately ignored his last remark, "Witchy is next door, if you want a tearful reunion."

Oz shrugged. "I called her last week. I'm glad she's alive, but I'm really here to see Dawn."

"A little close to the chest, cradle-robber," chortled Faith, with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Faith's words shielded Dawn, standing between her and the man who had entered their private domain so unexpectedly. Her humor was violent, a warning, she was daring Oz to retaliate, to distract him from whatever he was there for.

Oz deferred respectfully, bowing a little in Faith's direction before turning back to Dawn. "I know, we know..." He struggled for a moment to find the right words. "This clean up," he shrugged and Faith stiffened slightly. He almost whispered, somewhat pleadingly, "Wanna come to Tibet? Hang out with some monks?"

"Monks?" Dawn whispered. The word carried so much meaning, so much restrained anger and frustration.

"Nice monks," Oz twinkled at her. Faith caught his gaze and a current of understanding passed between them, one that Dawn could only guess at.

Faith turned to Dawn, "Might be nice, kickin' it in the mountains with some old guys while big sis plays housekeeper out here."

Oz snorted. "You guys don't get it." It was said with such derision that both girls ruffled, Dawn's eyes flashed and her nostrils flared a little, ready to put this shorty in his place. Buffy was _theirs_… Dawn looked over at Faith. Yes, Faith had always felt possession of Buffy from day one, even if she had never really been let into the sacred inner circle of the Scoobies. She looked back toward Oz and narrowed her eyes. What could he know of Sunnydale? Last anyone heard he had ensconced himself into a monastery in Tibet. And from his query just moments before, Dawn now knew that he was still there.

He directed himself towards both of them, struggling through the short speech as if he hadn't spoken in a long while. "Sunnydale is not an island unto itself. What happens there affects everything, even if most people can't see it. I almost came to see you, Dawn, when the monks told me you had arrived. But I waited. And then Buffy died, I almost came then, but then she came back. I've been waiting for the right time, but there isn't any." He gasped aloud, the mere act of speaking seemed to take so much energy.

Faith touched Oz's arm compassionately, "You took a vow of silence." He nodded and breathed heavily. "'Cause you always were so verbose before," Faith laughed. Oz smiled grimly and Dawn felt more confused than ever. Faith looked over at her and Dawn, for once in the past two days, couldn't sense the other girl's thoughts.

Oz took Dawn's hand, "You matter, so much. Every move you make…" He paused and bit his lip. "You know that saying, that a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world—"

"—Causes a windstorm on the other," Dawn whispered.

Oz nodded slowly. "You're like that – only so much bigger. The Supernatural community, you shake it up – there's an earthquake in the ether of reality every time you stub your toe. Those of us in touch with it..." he shook his head. "I'm not very good at explaining this." He turned away from her suddenly.

Faith pulled Dawn into a hug, pressing their bodies together, as if to shield her for the last time. "It's time kid, for you to know why you're here..." she whispered. "If Angel's hands weren't so full I would have called him about you eventually anyway. Buffy's going to be distracted for the next few months, this is a perfect time to figure out what you can do on your own."

Dawn looked over at Oz over Faith's shoulder, "Monks?"

He nodded, "And some nuns."


	3. Chapter Two

Monks. Dawn was fully relieved to find that these monks, Oz's friends, were not like the monks that had created her. These were gentle, happy people. (Not that she really new anything about the order that had created her, she had to admit to herself They protected the Potentials before their awakening. In Tibet, the Potential Slayers were held in high esteem, trained and taught alongside Potential Dalai Lamas. There were, in the retreat Oz brought her to, dozens of women and men strong and happy, protecting each other and their younger charges. After the awakening in Sunnydale, their numbers diminished, those Potentials that had had significant training, and were of the right age, went off into nearby villages and towns to protect the people from the daily demon menace.

Dawn's departure from California was short and lacking in sentiment. Buffy had nodded distractedly when Oz said he was taking Dawn with him and had allowed Giles to manage all of the more practical issues involved. Through Giles' new Council-powers Dawn was given a shiny passport within a few hours and plane tickets for her and Oz. Faith drove them to the LA airport. Buffy stayed behind, giving Dawn a short hug and a pat on the back before turning back to more pressing matters. Faith suggested getting Dawn some more clothing before they left; all she had were those on her back. Oz had just quietly suggested that she pack light. So she did. All she had with her was the small pack she had put on the bus before… Before. In it were the journals she had kept from the past three years, some small mementos of her mother's, Mr. Gordo, and a few books Giles lent her for the plane ride. After the three day hike up the mountain to Oz's retreat, Dawn regretted taking those books.

Upon her arrival she was sore, cranky, and just a little more sweaty than she'd like. She had also been brimming with questions. Oz was hardly a conversationalist. Which was nice after the uproar of the impending doom of the last … ever. But by nightfall on the third day, she was ripe and ready for a chat with anyone about why the hell she was there. That crankiness lasted a millisecond once she walked through the door. She was so tired and had been so catered to. After a warm bath, a soft robe, and a quiet place to sleep where the stars shined right above her, Dawn was ready to just be at peace. Something told her it would be the last opportunity for tranquility she'd have for a while, and embraced it at once.

It was easy to fall into a holding pattern here, she joined the Potentials in early morning Tai Chi, followed by a simple breakfast of fresh fruit, then meditation with Oz (which she felt was more important than he or anyone else was letting on). In the afternoons she poured over the books in the small library, most were of the demon variety and hence translating took up much of her time, or helping a few of the older nuns with the gardens. She became so invested in the routine weeks passed without any questions being asked or answered.

Which had been alright, until the dreams began.

"Dawn!" Oz shook her awake fiercely.

Dawn started, confused and frustrated. She had been dreaming… it was somehow important and being disrupted was not an option. She threw her arms out and pushed Oz as hard as she could. It didn't get him far physically, but the sentiment was felt and he backed off. She rubbed her eyes, "What do you want, Oz?"

His voice was barely above a whisper, "You were screaming." There was a long pause as Dawn tried to wake up, while simultaneously reaching for the dream. Oz sighed, "Again."

"Again."

It was a bright night, the moon was full and the stars in Tibet seemed so much closer than the stars in California. It sometimes felt as though being here was like being on a different planet altogether.

Dawn looked over at Oz surreptitiously, "How many times, were there screaming?"

He mulled over his words carefully, "The past five nights that you slept. Mostly whimpering at first, some fits. But lately..." he shrugged.

Dawn thought hard. The dream, it was gone now, but it left a lingering feeling of familiarity. She looked up at Oz fiercely, "What did you mean by 'that you slept'? Are there nights that I don't sleep?"

Dawn had chosen her first night to sleep on a small balcony overlooking the gardens and down the hall from the library. Nothing separated her from the rest of the monastery but a few draperies Oz had placed at the entrance to the balcony. Through the draperies Philomena suddenly emerged, the elderly Greek woman Dawn helped in the gardens most afternoons. They had never spoken before, but there was something about the woman's dark, nut-brown eyes that made Dawn feel comforted. Philomena waved her hand at Oz as he started to rise upon her entrance and turned to Dawn.

"Dawn," the woman's voice was warm and deep. "How long have you been visiting with us?"

"Two weeks yesterday," Dawn was stung by the ridiculous question, as if she were a child and lost track of the days. She had to remember the days, count them meticulously. Two weeks since she arrived at the monastery. Three weeks since the death, mayhem, sadness of Sunnydale was swept away. Counting made it easier to cope. Numbers gave meaning to the hole in her world, to the sadness and pain that would overtake her if it weren't for the numbers. Days. Hours. Minutes. Seconds. Three weeks. 21 days. 504 hours. 30,240 minutes. 1,814,400 seconds. Never had she put so much power into the concept of time and numbers. One million, eight hundred and fourteen thousand, four hundred seconds equals three weeks. She figured another three weeks and it wouldn't hurt so much. Surely after 3,628,800 seconds the pain would lessen. Such a large number would mean less pain. It was flawed logic, but it kept her from crying every night.

Oz stood up and went to Philomena, "She's not ready." He hissed the words at her, threw them between the woman and Dawn.

Philomena merely smiled at Oz and rested her hand on his shoulder before crouching in front of Dawn. "My dear, you've been here nearly six weeks."

Dawn's head spun. 6. 42. 1008. 60,480. 3,628,800. Had it truly been that long? For a moment she only contemplated her grief, felt around in her mind for signs that she was better, that she had healed. The passing of time she lost did not worry her, it was the left over grief and pain that still clung to her like a shadow that finally caused her to break her resolve.

And so Dawn cried.

This time Faith wasn't there to hold her while the sobs shook her whole body. The pain of the first night was nothing compared to this, six weeks later and nothing had been righted. Tara was still gone, Anya was still dead, Sunnydale was a crater. And Spike. _Spike._

Her incapacitating grief turned to overwhelming anger. There were things... people... she was not yet ready to grieve for. Six weeks be damned. Dawn gritted her teeth and stood up violently. "How?" The word was spoken in something bordering on a growl.

Oz hedged towards her. "The meditations. How long does it seem they last?"

Dawn shook her head, "A couple hours. I don't know. I never... I assumed.." She looked at the two humans standing in front of her with a dejected expression.

"Your last meditation … it lasted over a week," his voice was just above a whisper, as if the words would have less meaning if they weren't spoken too loudly. Only that's not how it worked. Words were words whether spoken in a whisper, written, read silently, or shouted from the rooftops. Their power was constant. Unlike those shameless, deceiving numbers she had tried to rely on for … six weeks?

The moon was large, orange, it dominated Dawn's mind even as she closed her eyes, she could feel its reflected light on her upturned face. She could hear the sounds of the wilderness around with sudden, intense clarity. There were the whirring of tiny insect wings so close to her ear and the crackling of foliage under the timid limbs of wild deer. Harmony. The wind swept over her tear-soaked face and brought with it the scent of wild animal musk, of the earth and lovely growing things. There was so much comfort in the earth. She breathed in deep, inhaling a borrowed reserve and strength from her surroundings.

_Six weeks_. Yes, that was right. If they would just give her a moment to adjust to the number... just stop the words until the number fit. Time was a construction anyway, and she could almost feel mechanical wheels in her brain ticking off the units of measurement one by one. Several minutes later, Dawn turned to Oz and Philomena, eyes blazing.

Philomena looked at her with awe. "What... ahem... what did you just do?"

"Phil!" Oz grabbed the old woman by the arm. "That's enough! We can do this later." He turned to Dawn to apologize, "We can do this later, you rest."

"No." Philomena whispered. "She doesn't need to rest." The older woman watched with unabashed amazement as Dawn paced back and forth restlessly on the balcony. Oz dropped the old woman's arm in frustration. Dawn looked up at him and her face filled with pity.

"Oz," she whispered. That was all it took. His shoulders dropped dejectedly as he stepped into a dim corner. Near enough to hear, but no longer standing between the two women. He was her strongest ally. And in the morning she would need his strength and protection, but something in Philomena's stance made Dawn realize that tonight she was ready for whatever the older woman had to say. Dawn's eyes focused on the old woman, both stared for a moment. Neither widening nor narrowing their eyes, it seemed to Dawn that they were speaking a language of openness and understanding that she was still unfamiliar with. Her mind groped for the question that Philomena had asked seconds before.

"I just breathed it in..." Dawn said solidly. There was no holding back now. Anything that needed to be said was going to be said that night or never.

Philomena gasped, "The magic?"

"No..." Dawn paused and thought. "Maybe, but that's not what I thought of it. It was more... It was like I was able to breathe in the earth somehow."

Philomena nodded. "Earth magick is a powerful resource."

Dawn shook her head and blurted out, "Isn't all magick from nature? When I-" she stopped herself short and glanced at Oz. She was about to reveal more about herself than she may be ready for others to hear. Others that belonged to the world she inhabited: the Scoobies, the Slayers, the Watchers. All those capital-letter pronouns that belonged to groups of people. There were parts of her that she knew they wouldn't know how to handle. Oz still represented them in a way, his presence kept her connected to the world she had been created for.

Philomena pressed into her thoughts. "When you sense magick, it is always earth magick? Can you remember anyone, any magick that wasn't similar to the resource you just drew from?"

_Tara_. The thought blossomed in her mind without any effort. Yes, Tara's magick was not the same as the Slayers, or even like Willow's. "Tara." The name felt stuck in her throat for a long moment after the sound was gone. She cleared her throat, pushing down the tears. "Her magick was... airy? Not solid like the Slayer magick."

Philomena whispered, almost as if to herself, "Air. Earth. Fire. Water."

"Slayer magick is Earth magick..."

"Yes," Philomena said slowly. "Somewhat like your own."

"Willow..." Dawn's brows knit together.

"A fire-witch. Naturally. We've seen Rupert has been teaching her the ways of Earth magick, many believe that is all there is left in this dimension. Fire magick..."

"Is manipulative. Fire wiccas can access and manipulate all magicks."

"It is encouraged that those that possess the power of Fire are trained in another magick. Fire is too strong, it can burn out the soul with its passion."

"The scythe..."

"Yes. The spell cast on the Slayers will ground Willow in Earth magicks for a time. There is still a risk, but there is always a risk with all magicks. Losing Tara, and the Air magicks that her presence brought, created irreversible damage. Fire-wiccas have the strongest souls, but they are also the most passionate, and no matter how strong the soul, passion can always burn it out." Dawn started pacing slowly, both women understood that this conversation was being overheard by Oz, so though Dawn was in complete understanding, Philomena continued her explanation. "Obviously that boy Xander possesses no magicks. He is the soul, pure soul. That is how he stopped Willow's destructive path. That, and the Earth magicks that she stole from Rupert Giles..." There was a slight hesitation in Philomena's voice as she continued. "Human souls are the most selfish. Xander may be pure soul, he may even possess a pure soul. But in this realm, purity of soul also means a paradox of selfishness and selflessness. That is the essence of a purely human existence without the influence of any magicks."

Dawn understood. She thought of the human heroes, those possessing so much humanity that there seemed a sense of divine to them. The human leaders of great religions, the great philosophers of the world, these were men and women with only a soul to guide them, no magicks. These humans, the purest humans, were always battling an inner nature that was divided against itself. Human souls could be corrupted in ways no one could quite comprehend. It made them the most vulnerable, and the most free. For the battle was completely internal. She didn't envy Xander that luxury as she pondered it, and a quick glance at Oz revealed the same. The pure human soul was precious and beautiful, but it must also be lonely. She thought for a moment of the souls that had been given back to the vampires she loved, but stopped herself short. Now was not the time for that question, when there were so many other pressing ones.

"You said that Earth magick is the most common..."

"No. Not the most common. The only known to this dimension. Tara and Willow are more than special or unique - how they found each other is a mystery - they are representatives of extinct magicks in this world. The last known Fire wicca was drowned by a mob in Medieval times. And Water wiccas..." She shook her head softly. "We lost them with Atlantis."

Dawn felt the pain of all that loss wave over her. Three magick elements lost. "So I... am an Earth wicca?"

"No..." Philomena said slowly and Dawn sensed Oz fidgeting. "Or yes... In a way. Your blood carries the memory of Earth magick. It is the blood of a Slayer, but you are not a Slayer. Therefore, it is the blood of a type of Earth wicca, but you are not an Earth wicca."

"So then... what am I?"

"Oh..." breathed the old woman with pleasure. "You are something else entirely my dear. You are full of magicks that have never before existed in this way in our dimension before. You can sense magicks because -"

"Smell," Dawn interrupted suddenly.

"Wha-?"

"I can smell Earth magicks in others. Willow, nuts. Faith, barley. Buffy, moss. Tara, flowers. …. Sometimes I could taste Tara's magick, too. Like mint and oranges in my mouth when she was trying to comfort me, or if I entered a room after she had been talking to Buffy..." Dawn never took her eyes off the elder woman.

"Air wiccas often use their magicks to neutralize situations and comfort others, yes. It would have been instinctual for Tara, completely unintentional use of magicks..." Philomena seemed lost in thought, glorying almost in this example of a lost art. She looked up at Dawn with amazement, "Then you have already started writing? You sought out, probably unconsciously, a connection or understanding of the magicks in your family and interpreted them through your senses!"

"So... so …. I don't understand."

"You were written! Well... we were all written. Perhaps I should start there, yes. Everything around us has been written. Everything that has even been anywhere was imagined by someone else and written down. When stories or thoughts are written down, even if that article of writing is destroyed, what was written _is_, what will be written _is_." Dawn sat down on the banister, confused. Philomena continued, "Did you ever write a short story or poem, or in a journal? Have you ever read a story or novel and wanted so badly to meet the characters?"

Dawn nodded. Yes. She had done all of those things. Since she found out that her life had been written for her, however, her journal had transformed from a narrative about her life (all previous evidence of _that_ type of journal she had burned) to imaginative tales of created, fictional characters. Sometimes she rewrote her childhood, giving herself a new name (sometime Joan, like Buffy's name during that spell Willow cast, and other times exotic names: Josephine, Esmeralda, Elaina; but most often plain, ordinary names like Emily, Anne, Sara, or Beth, like the heroines of her favorite novels) a new family, new adventures. It was never really her, but it was comforting to create an alternative. Anyone could be anybody. That had been stripped from her past, and so she re-imagined it a million different ways. The summer Buffy was gone, and all there was was Spike and Tara, most of her stories revolved around a girl without a big sister: an only child, or a big sister herself (though this always seemed to be pressing the envelope - Dawn couldn't comprehend having a younger sister, even in her fantasies it didn't quite make sense), but most of the time with a dashing, popular big brother that tackled her and tickled her. Xander wasn't care-free enough that summer to play with her the way they used to, and Spike had such old-fashioned notions about teenage girls, and little sisters, that she began to feel surprised that he never demanded she knit him a sweater or a pair of socks.

Philomena spoke softly, "For every decision that we make, reality is split in two. There are infinite versions of the woman standing before you. But. Child, you are different. You were _written_. There is only one Dawn for the first fourteen years that you lived. Because they were written by one person. It is because of you that we now know the truth: everything that is written exists. Everything that has been written is its own dimension and universe. There were many that had speculated this theory since the beginning of time. No one was sure how strong the magick of writing was. And then!" Here she looked at Dawn hard, and the young girl began to feel a little faint. "And then you arrived! The world was rewritten for you. Do you understand?"

"If everything is fiction, then nothing is real." Dawn could almost see the fury emanating from the words that Oz suddenly spoke.

Dawn didn't skip a beat, "If everything is real, then nothing is fiction."

They paused to take this in for a moment. Everything was real. All the stories that Dawn had ever heard, read, or told existed somewhere. For those without knowledge of magicks, an alternate dimension was no more real than a novel. But Dawn now realized that reality was subjective, if you believed it was real, it was real.

"We believe... It's possible that you can rewrite yourself, Dawn. In ways that no one else can. You can choose your magicks, your past, your future... not one day at a time, but eons at a time. You are the key to reality."

"So... You're saying that I can choose what magicks I can use?"

"No. I'm saying that your will can be directed in _any_way, regardless of any perception of power or magick that we have in this dimension, or that anyone has in any dimension. You are writing yourself and your reality every day, and in doing so, maintaining a balance between fact and fiction so that every dimension can continue to exist." Philomena paused, uncertain how to continue.

"You have already decided what path you are going to take in this life, without knowing it," Oz interjected. The women looked at him appreciatively. "Your powers are empathic, you heightened your senses to anticipate and feel the magicks around you."

"But that is only the beginning. Anything that you put your mind to, you will be able to do." Philomena blushed a little, "This is true for everyone, of course, but the rules of this world limit us without us knowing. You are bound by no such rules..."

"What if I choose wrong?" Dawn felt suddenly so unsure of herself.

Oz inched towards her, out of the shadows, "Choose either to follow the path that you are on, or to follow an alternate path. The magicks of this dimension, the power in you, will provide you options without you needing to seek them out. Smelling and tasting magicks? This has never been documented before, it is a sense that humans and demons in this reality do not have. Yet you do. You can choose to explore that empathy, that sense. Or, you can choose to ignore it, wait for something new to present itself."

"Except-" Philomena interrupted suddenly. "Except physical strength. You are _not_ part of the Slayer line. You will not be able to rewrite your physical body's capabilities. Your mind, your magick, your will - these are all at your disposal. Possibly even the outside world to an extent. But your body is static, do you understand? You can strengthen it within certain limits, but you will not be able to bend the rules the way the Slayer line does."

"This doesn't mean that you know all that your body is capable of. You can't bend the rules, but you can push your body to find its limits, just like anyone else," Oz seemed suddenly as though he felt the need to console her, and Dawn smiled at him. She was not a typical fifteen year old that hated her body and worried about every pooch and sag. Buffy, Anya, and Willow were so small, so petite and yet strong. Even Tara had been small according to the world's standards. Even next to Spike, Dawn sometimes felt like an overgrown faun. In this family it would have been easy to fall victim to low self esteem. But that was the thing about having so many sisters around, every morning when she woke up someone fawned over her hair, her long legs, her bright eyes. There was something to admire in everyone. Summers women (a category to which Dawn felt Willow, Tara, Faith, Anya, etc. had all belonged) loved their bodies. Dawn had always enjoyed her height, especially. Buffy may be able to kick vampire-butt, but Dawn could reach into the high cupboards. The small stuff.

Reality hit her suddenly, it was so easy now to dwell on memories... Probably due to the meditation sessions. It was a question that could be asked another time.

"I have to make a choice tonight, don't I?" Dawn saw Oz inch even closer to her with hesitation, this was what he didn't want her to hear. The rest, it was all just leading up to her making one choice. Right now, with the moon taking up all of her vision.

"You are the key. You have to exist. Whoever created you, wrote you into existence... They didn't think about what your existence would mean. Without you the fabric of reality crumbles. Glorificus, she believed that you broke the boundaries between earth and hell, but that is not all you are capable of... You keep all worlds, all dimensions, all realities stable."

"I can't die." It wasn't a question, it was more fact than anything she had known.

Oz broke in, "Buffy and Faith. They are the mothers of the Slayer line. The spell Willow cast, awakening every Potential, has its consequences. Every time a Slayer dies, a year is added to Buffy and Faith's lifeline. They will never age, never die. They are granted immortality."

"But that's not a consequence! That's a gift."

Philomena suddenly seemed impatient. "I don't see how this is relevant information, wolf."

Oz's eyes glinted and he growled a little under his breath. "Buffy and Faith will have to watch every one they love die. They won't be allowed any peace. They cannot die. If both die, so does the whole Slayer line. They are tied to it forever. In order to awaken every Potential, they gave their mortal lives."

The weight of this sunk in and broke Dawn's heart. Of course, it would take years for the girls to figure this out. "Willow, too?" she whispered. Oz shrugged. Of course, the path of the wicca who casted the spell would be hidden, even in this place. She drew in a long breath, "So- I have to be immortal, too?"

Philomnea smiled. "It's your choice. You can either live, like your sister, forever. Or... you can live out the rest of this mortal life and be resurrected repeatedly throughout time."

Dawn thought for a moment silently. "Each time I'm reborn, I'll have to start over from the beginning."

"Yes. Your memories will be lost with each birth. You'll have access to them, but they will be hidden from you during your childhood."

"And Buffy will have to watch me grow old and die, over and over?" Dawn looked up at the moon. "I can't do that to her. I can't leave her. I can't burden her with an infant every 80-odd years. If I have to watch everyone I love die, we can at least always be together... the three of us." Her eyes were shining with tears she refused to let drop. It would be too painful, to have to lose her memories over and over throughout time.

She breathed deep and suddenly could pick out the different magicks that seeped into her: the lightness of air, the constancy of the earth, the passion of fire, and the... water was so different, she couldn't yet place it, though she sensed it was there. It was as if she did not yet have the word for it. It was the flavor of a dish that she had never tasted and didn't know how to place. But she had time. So much time. She knew instinctively that she would age for a few more years yet, would probably peak in her late 20s like her sisters. She didn't know how she was going to explain all this to them and what her meditations meant. Oz wrapped his arms around her and she sunk into the embrace thankfully.


	4. Life: An Experiment

Dawn woke up with a start and squinted up at the clock at the opposite end of the library. Almost midnight. _Good_. In the past year or two, Dawn had become addicted to the night; that last year in Sunnydale was the beginning - only a year and a half later and Dawn had almost forgotten what daylight was. While traveling with Buffy and the other Slayers, Dawn had adapted her schedule to theirs, waking up in the late afternoon and while they were fighting or training all night, Dawn researched and studied under the watchful eyes of Giles and Willow. While the other girls fought for time in the sun - sunbathing and soaking it all up, Dawn had shied away. Her light skin now seemed almost devoid of pigment.

She sighed and looked sullenly down at the book that she had previously been using as a pillow: _The Sumerians (History Opens Windows). _She wasn't quite sure now, a month into the semester, why she had thought that a Freshman seminar on the ancient Middle East was a good idea. She leaned back in her chair and imagined explaining to the professor and 150 other students how she had translated the ancient scroll that was paraphrased in Chapter 5 and how only an idiot . . . She sighed - _Positive thinking, Dawnie_ she thought. _You'll only get through this with positive thinking. . . or a nice hot bath . . ._

She threw her textbooks into her bag carelessly and thought of the collection of original source material sitting on her nightstand and wondered if a call to Giles would get her into trouble, or out of this ridiculous class. Outside on the library steps, Dawn paused and caressed the smooth stake in her hand. A slight breeze struggled to sweep away the thick heat still clinging to the ground after a long LA day. Dawn charged into the dark stillness, her body humming with anticipation. As she passed under a large tree, Dawn smelled a fine hint of cigarette smoke, and then the comforting aroma of worn leather and dried sweat.

"Awfully late for a study session, isn't it little bit?"

"Did Angel send you?" Dawn said with a smile as she slipped her arm through the vampire's and shivered a little from contact with a being so cold on such a warm night.

"Cordy."

'Oh." Dawn paused at that. Cordelia had been awfully protective of Dawn since she came back from wherever the PTB had sent her. When she had found out that Dawn had been at the large battle in LA at the start of the summer, it became Cordy's campaign to make sure Dawn had a "real life" - she sent her off with Connor to the mall, movies, bowling, you name it and Cordy had forced the two to do it. Cordy's dedication to Dawn was the sole reason why Buffy had made sure Dawn stayed in LA. Buffy had hundreds of little-Slayers to take care of and Cordy wanted Dawn. So Dawn had stayed . . . though after a couple of weeks (and a few million squabbles with Illyria and Connor) she moved out of the Hyperion and placed in Cordy's old apartment with Phantom Dennis.

"She got caught up with vision-y stuff and sent me to tell you she couldn't make it for movie-night. After a few rounds with Dennis, I figured I'd come find you."

That was the way of it most nights: she'd come home to the little apartment to find Spike and Dennis playing poker in her kitchen. Sometimes Connor would join them, but he was often busy with school or helping Angel kill some hell-beasty. Dawn squeezed his arm, overcome with affection. Spike could have... **should**have left with Buffy. She knew he wanted to and that Buffy had asked. He stayed for her. Cordy had complained about Spike's cell phone bill the first month, but then just enrolled everyone on an unlimited plan. With the Scoobies now spread all over the world and Connor and Dawn in school, it was just more practical. Even though Dawn was sure that now Spike had mastered txting, it was the only thing Cordy could do to keep Angel Investigations from going bankrupt.

"I fell asleep. Sumerian history... ugh."

The vampire laughed softly, 'The true method of knowledge is experiment."

"William Blake?" He had lately been testing her knowledge by passing out random quotes. She hadn't realized before how educated he must have been in his human life. The vampire had encouraged her to sign up for a poetry class and though she was hesitant at first, it had quickly become the most engrossing part of her week.

He nodded slowly, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Dawn eyed the smoke suspiciously - V_ampires don't have breath, so how is it that Spike smokes? And what about second-hand smoke, should I be worried about contracting lung cancer because I'm always around a nicotine addicted vampire? _They walked in silence for a few minutes more until they were standing in front of a large, blazing sorority house. Somehow he had guided her the opposite direction that she wanted to go. Dawn looked up at him curiously and found him looking intently at the house. There were half a dozen parties on campus that night, but this was by far the largest. Dawn had been casually invited by a cute, nerdy guy in her history class earlier that day, but had declined. The house was full of people dancing, laughing... Dawn instinctively drew back. She felt her bag being taken off her shoulders and looked up at the vampire inquisitively.

He thrust a bottle of white wine into her hands and said gruffly, "Cordy wants you to be a normal college girl, right?"

Dawn gaped up at him. Surely _this_was not what Cordelia meant! She shook her head and backed away. He glared at her for a moment and then swept her up in a huge bear hug, whispering in her ear, "I'll be right outside, little bit. Go in and party like hell." He slipped a condom into her back pocket and growled, "I'd know and I'd probably kill him - but just to be safe, anyway."

With that he thrust her toward the door and disappeared. She didn't look back, she didn't hesitate, she walked firmly through the door and into the mess of people, thrusting her trusty stake into the pocket of her jacket.


	5. Conversations w OverProtective Vampires

"We got a package from Willow!"

Dawn peeked through the window in Wesley's office to the entrance, Angel was standing there grinning like a kid at Christmas, holding a small box. Connor stood slightly to the right of him, trying to look manly and uninterested. Packages from Willow oftentimes meant something stinky and/or old for Dawn to research and while generally - Cool - tonight she was studying for a midterm in Statistics. Spike stood up from the arm chair in front of the desk where he had been painting his fingernails with the polish Dawn had brought with her and beckoned her out the door to where the others were gathering. Dawn looked down at the piles of paperwork, scrolls, and textbooks - Wesley's desk was now where Dawn's homework met the weird and wacky. Through the door came ooh's and ahh's that typically... wait. Dawn perked up - _Actual presents? _She hustled out the door and into the lobby where Angel, Cordy, Spike, and Connor were staring intently at what appeared to be...

"Willow sent us iPhones?" Dawn queried. Cordy smiled up at her, handing over a crumpled piece of what appeared to be parchment.

"No one can read her chicken scrawl like you can, hun. Now tell us why we are all so blessed!" Cordy's question ended on a little bit of a squeel. She had been wanting to upgrade her phone for months, but Angel still didn't know how to use his and felt it was a waste of money. Dawn had heard them arguing about it for a while, apparently being a PTB didn't change Cordy's need for the fashionable.

"Blessed?" Angel scoffed, "What is this thing? Are they weapons or some sort of fancy ... What is this? I need to get back to work."

"Come off it you...!-" Spike started to splutter, but Dawn interrupted him quickly. Lately Spike had been less than talkative, but when it came to Angel... well, things were worse between the vampires than ever before. Dawn shivered with the tension.

"Willow says that she magically upgraded the phones so that we can talk to each other face to face from now on." She looked up at Angel, "So now if you want to talk to Cordy, you'll be able to see her face on the screen." Angel looked down at the shiny black article dubiously. Dawn coughed slightly. "She also says that they're magically enhanced for each of us personally, we can't ever lose them because they'll find us, and can even work under water and are fireproof." Dawn looked up at them after skimming over the rest of the letter. "Since they're technically magical, that also means no more phone bill for you Cordy and-" Dawn paused while Cordy did a little dance, imagining all she could do with the extra money, "- from what I can tell, if we're dealing with any one of over a hundred demon dialects, all spoken human languages, and a few dead ones - the phone will translate for us." Dawn tossed the phone in her hand to Illyria, "That one is yours, it will sort of hum or give off an unpleasant heat if you're holding one that doesn't belong to you." Illyria handled the small black device like a child would a shell found on the beach, turning and twisting it around expectantly.

"Sounds too good to be true," Connor mused while staring into the phone's shiny surface.

"How did you know that was Illyria's?" inquired Cordy. Dawn looked up at her in surprise.

"How-? Well... um... he... she - there was... um..." Dawn _knew_, just knew instinctively that the phone she had been holding had been Illyria's. Just as she had realized earlier that day that the small pendant she had found on the landing in her building's staircase belonged to Mrs. Frederickson's niece that visited her on Wednesdays after school. Dawn had never spoken to the niece and didn't know that she visited the old lady every week, but she _knew_. Somehow. As she struggled to put into words something, anything that would make sense to them, something from Willow's note - anything, she felt Spike tense up and move toward her protectively. _Crap. If you and Angel get into an argument today I'll scream,_ she thought. Spike looked towards her suspiciously and backed of half an inch. "It's probably something Willow did... we'll all just know, you know?"

"She can read the auras of things," Illyria said flippantly, bored with the situation and taking the shiny new toy down to the basement.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Connor put his rickety Jeep in park outside Dawn's apartment building, but didn't turn off the gas. Dawn murmured a polite "Thanks for the ride" and pulled at the door handle - but his hand on her arm stopped her for a moment. She waited, not looking at him. He sighed and let go of her arm, staring down at the steering wheel.

"Listen, Dawn," he always struggled with her name. Sometimes he ignored it altogether, preferring pet names like Spike usually did, but when he said it, it always sounded choked and unfamiliar. Like an English speaker trying to combat the name of an exotic ethnic dish. "Dawn," he said again, this time clearer and stronger as he turned to look at her, "I can't imagine what you're going through - what you've been going through, but-"

"Stop." Her voice was calm but emphatic. She couldn't take this talk from him. "You can't do that. You can't tell me that there's no way to know what it's like to live 14 years and then find out you're only a ball of energy 'but' ... there is no 'but' in this scenario." She looked steadfastly into his eyes, daring him to turn away. "You lived for 17-or whatever years in a hell dimension. I don't know what that's like. Period. I won't try to give you any thoughtful advice on what it means to be a "normal" human college student, or how to balance our wacky supernatural families with everything else... and neither will you - got it?" He nodded and smiled ruefully.

Dawn grabbed her bag and jumped out of the Jeep. "Hey Dawn," he said, leaning over the seat to talk to her. "One question - just between us freaks?"

"Sure."

"How do you deal?"

"I forget."

"Yeah." He nodded, understanding instinctively. "Me too..." he paused for a moment. "At least... when I can, you know?"

Dawn nodded and turned towards her apartment where Phantom Dennis would be waiting with a pack of cards in the kitchen, and Spike would be perched on her balcony window, making sure Connor didn't take her for a joy ride... or at least, got her safe home afterwards. Only, standing at the landing in front of her door was another vampire in a black coat with a weird obsession with hair gel - only this one wasn't as welcome.

"Angel," was all she could muster in greeting. He was holding a filled grocery bag, filled with either mystical wards or snack foods. Everyone knew Dawn's attention to sugary detail in her kitchen, she was never found with out Mambas in her purse, or peanut butter m&ms stashed away in a drawer. She'd been that way since... Dawn shook her head and opened the door, beckoning Angel in with a nod and turning on the lights.

Sure enough, Dennis had the poker chips set up on the kitchen table, and a weird hint of peroxide was coming from the bathroom. Dawn peeked at the calendar on the refrigerator, it was the 15th: a bleaching day for Spike. Dawn had tried to break him of the habit, arguing that his natural, dark hair was more attractive, but he wouldn't hear of it. He'd been blonde since the late '70's and that was that.

Dawn ignored Angel and went to the kitchen, pulling out a bag of pita chips and some hummus. It had been a long day and there was no sense in cooking a large meal just for herself... though Dennis would sometimes snack a little and Spike seemed to enjoy the domestic setting that was created when she was cooking, tonight she'd just snack, maybe bake bread for tomorrow. Angel watched her from the entryway curiously. This mild mannered, careful and methodical Dawn was not the one he remembered from Sunnydale. He set the large bag of candy and snack foods on the counter and began unpacking it for her. He watched her busy herself with the task of laying out food, emptying the dishwasher, checking the expiration dates on cheeses and containers of pig's blood. Her long hair swayed as she danced nimbly around the kitchen and he began to have a sense that this scene was not for him. The pig's blood was decidedly not for him, he had not been to visit Dawn since she moved in months ago.

_Does Spike come here so often that she keeps that much blood in the fridge? _Angel thought. He really didn't know how to feel about that, he had guessed that Buffy left without Spike because he wasn't invited, but as he looked around the small apartment another picture began to emerge -

_Spike hadn't left because of Dawn?_ The thought smacked him right in the face, leaving him a little shell shocked. _Spike and Dawn?_ It was bad enough trying not to think about that year Spike had had with Buffy but this- No. It was impossible. He itched to confront the cheeky bastard, his fingers suddenly tap dancing across the table, his whole body restless. He grabbed a pen from out of an old jar on the counter and began twirling it between his fingers, concentrating on the action, trying to think of something to say - something, anything to break the stifling silence.

Dawn reached over and gently took the pen out of his hand, "If I was sleeping with Spike, wouldn't you have been able to smell it? Hell, Angel, when I lose my virginity I know you'll be able to smell it. So stop being weird." He stared at her blankly. She looked down at the piles of candy, cookies, and chips: "Who is planning on eating all of this?"

"Well... you?" Angel was still reeling from her previous statement and almost didn't catch the look of surprise on her face. As she looked up at him her face slowly moved from one of shock, to understanding, to sadness. She grabbed an armful of goodies and turned to place them in a drawer next to the oven.

"Right," she murmured softly to herself, "because you're supposed to love this, Dawn, remember?" She turned to Angel brightly and said, "Thanks!" a little too emphatically.

"Dawn listen, I didn't come here to bring you candy... Well I did.. but that's not the point. The point is-"

"The point is," she broke in, "you want to have a heart-to-heart about what Illyria said today." She looked up at him sadly. "Can we let it go for now? Please?"

"Dawn... you've been so... different. Right? Since you got here you seem... are you depressed?" He blurted out the last statement as if it was the hardest answer, but the one he was hoping for.

"Angel," Dawn sighed. "You remember me- right? As a little girl, as Buffy's sister. But everything you know about me... it wasn't me. I didn't become me, the real me, the one standing here in the flesh, until after you left. So everything you know? Everything that... that they wrote for me. Forget it."

"Forget it? I can't forget you... What are you saying here Dawn?" He looked to his left suddenly, "Is that an ash-tray! Do you smoke?"

"Angel for god's sake!" Dawn started yelling out of frustration. "This isn't about Spike!" She sighed and sat down, silent for a moment. "For fourteen years someone else was writing my life, can you just try to remember that for a moment? My favorite color, my first day of school, my first word, my best friend - these things were created for me, not chosen by me. So - Willow, and Giles, have been helping me... re-write things." She looked up at him sadly. "I'm working really hard to forget everything... Well, I've kept mom and Buffy, some memories of you and Riley and the Scoobies. But everything else..." She sighed and Angel noticed for the first time how thin and tired she looked. "Every night I meditate, I take something away from myself so that I can start over."

"And Spike is here-"

Dawn interrupted him, "Spike was the first thing I chose for myself. Ours was the first friendship that I created... that I chose for me just for me all on my own." She shook her head. "He shouldn't have stayed here in LA... Buffy wants him with her-" she choked a little. "He's the family that I chose. This, LA - is the family that I'm choosing for myself. You, Cordy, Connor," she nodded her head with a smile towards the bathroom door that was slightly ajar, "Dennis."

"Dawn," Angel took a step towards her, "Buffy loves you..."

"I know," Dawn said softly. "But she wasn't meant to have a sister. And that's okay. She doesn't know it and - it will always just be something that I know that she can't know. I have to hide that from her she'd... she wouldn't understand. Willow doesn't really understand most days... You'd think that you would, after everything that happened with Jasmine." Dawn stood up to put some more ingredients into the bread machine on the counter.

At that moment the door opened and Connor burst in. "I decided homework is for suckers..." he saw Angel in the kitchen and added, "No pun intended, pops." He grabbed a bag of chips and a package of licorice off the counter, "Sweet! High fructose corn syrup... usually Her GlowyOrb-ness only allows organic snacks." The look he shot Angel clearly said, "How oblivious are you, anyway?" Soon Connor was settled on the couch, the television blaring with the sounds of a post-apocalyptic video game. Angel stood silently in the kitchen as Dawn bustled about and Spike emerged from the bathroom, newly bleached by Dennis. After a half hour or so, Angel left, running home over rooftops. Dawn watched through the window as the men behind her laughed and joked until he was long out of sight.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"You accused Dawn of shacking it up with Spike?" Cordelia shouted, throwing a pillow at his head the minute he entered the room that night.

"You sent me over there ... what was I supposed to think-"

"You really are dense sometimes, aren't you? Do you really think that Dawn or Spike would choose to be away from Buffy and the glorious mission if something wasn't up?" Here she paused, "Would you have?"

"Wait a second. How did you even find out? For that matter, how did she even know that was what I was thinking? I didn't even say anything..."

"Duh. Dawn's been hyper-intuitive since she got here. She txted me the minute you left the apartment. Haven't you been paying attention? Did you ask her about what Illyria said?"

"She needs more time."

Cordy nodded. "Good, that means when she's ready to talk, she will. If you can stop being a blind idiot, maybe she'll even choose to come to you first this time."

"She told me..." Angel looked down at Cordy, struggling to understand what had happened that night, and how to tell her.

"She told you that she's erasing the memories those monks gave her. I know. Willow told me. And Giles sends me an email every week, detailing what she's given up. She's made a lot of progress the past couple months. Completely changed even her taste in food."

"The candy thing."

"Right."

Cordelia sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to her for him. He sat down and she turned to him. "It's got to be difficult for her, to reinvent oneself sounds like a dream come true, but it's taking a toll. She knew it would."

"She said Buffy-"

"Let it go." Cordy rubbed his back affectionately. "Dawn and Buffy are sisters, they'll always love each other. Dawn just needs some time to... well, to be something other than -"

"Her GlowyOrb-ness?"

Cordelia laughed, recognizing Connor's pet name for Dawn. "Wouldn't you want that chance?"

"So the aura-readings, that's...?"

Cordy sighed. "I talked to Lorne about it a few weeks ago. Dawn won't let him hear her sing, not until she's finished what she has to do with the monks and the meditation and all that. What he did tell me is that someone like her - all of that energy and power, has to be used by someone sometime. She has the opportunity to choose how to use her power and where to pour that energy into. Whether this new... it could be part of her that we never saw before because... well, we weren't really seeing her. Or - this could be her choice."

"So we have to let it play out"

"We have to let her know she has a family here." Cordelia took his hand in hers and squeezed, "We're the family she chooses for right now. So yes - we have to let her grow at her own pace." She kissed his cheek and smiled. "We don't really have a choice, anyway."


	6. Sometimes the Past

Note- In the same storyline as "Life- An Experiment". I have no beta, so any mistakes are my own. Characters belong to Joss :) Any and all feedback would be appreciated - I've never written any form of fiction before, but Dawn is a character that I felt needed more time and what needs to happen I can't do in an essay - so here it is.

Okay so the first part (that's in script-form) is a LITERAL scene from a Season 7 episode word-for-word. I hate this scene and was going to just have Faith or Spike give Dawn the same speech and call it a day, and then realized that I hate everything about this scene and needed to do it all over.

XANDER: Aw, I'm just thinking about the girls. It's a harsh gig, being a potential. Just being picked out of a crowd, danger, destiny, (grins) plus if you act now, death.  
DAWN: They can handle it.  
XANDER: Yeah. They're special, no doubt. The amazing thing is, not one of them will ever know, not even Buffy.  
DAWN: Know what?  
XANDER: How much harder it is for the rest of us.  
DAWN: No way. They've got...?  
XANDER: Seven years, Dawn. Working with the slayer. Seeing my friends get more and more powerful. A witch. A demon. Hell, I could fit Oz in my shaving kit, but come a full moon, he had a wolfy mojo not to be messed with. Powerful. All of them. And I'm the guy who fixes the windows.  
DAWN: Well, you had that sexy army training for a while, and?and the windows really did need fixing.  
XANDER: I saw what you did last night.  
DAWN: Yeah, I? (embarrassed) I guess I kinda lost my head when I thought I was the slayer.  
XANDER: You thought you were all special. Miss Sunnydale 2003. And the minute you found out you weren't, you handed the crown to Amanda without a moment's pause. You gave her your power.  
DAWN: (shrugs) The power wasn't mine.  
XANDER: They'll never know how tough it is, Dawnie, to be the one who isn't chosen. To live so near to the spotlight and never step in it. But I know. I see more than anybody realizes because nobody's watching me. I saw you last night. I see you working here today. You're not special. You're extraordinary. (stands, kisses her forehead, starts to walk out of the room)  
DAWN: (tears welling in her eyes, calls after him) Maybe that's your power.  
XANDER: What?  
DAWN: Seeing. Knowing.  
XANDER: Maybe it is. Maybe I should get a cape.  
DAWN: Cape is good.  
XANDER: Yeah.

Xander's image blurred as he walked away from Dawn, shimmering into nothingness when it came into contact with Spike's approaching form. Dawn looked up with surprise at the vampire, whom had never interrupted one of her meditations before and shook her head. She knew he watched, sometimes through the memories she could smell him, sense him sitting in the room watching over her. His presence allowed her to delve deep into the memories, pulling them apart with reckless abandon, knowing that he was there... in case she got stuck in them. It was a fear that only Giles and Spike seemed to share with her, that Dawn's meditation would cause her to be trapped in her own mind forever. Willow kept saying Dawn would soon be addicted to the power in the meditation process. Cordy worried that Dawn's meditations were keeping her from adjusting to LA and campus-life. Buffy worried that Dawn would accidentally forget their mother and Tara. But Spike's fears were silent and steady, so his presence was a comfort most days.

It was rare for a memory to come to her so clearly, shimmering around her in a fog, tempting her with it's closeness, as this one had. She had been looking actively for something else, an older memory from elementary school that involved a cupcake. It wasn't a bad memory, but it reeked of the monks and she was eager to rid herself of it... of them all and just be what she chose to be. Willow and Cordy had warned her repeatedly not to go too fast, to slow down, to stop pushing herself so hard. But the need to drive out the fiction of herself was growing stronger each day. The past month or so this memory kept coming back, the memory of this day - of her desire to be a Potential. It wasn't a fond memory for her, or a bad... she had previously tried not to think to hard or too long on that day once it passed. There was so much in that day that she hadn't come to terms with. But lately the conversation with Xander kept popping up, blocking her from accessing any other memories.

She shook her head and started to rise, but Spike pushed her down and sat cross-legged in front of her. He was wearing black sweats, a white tee, and long white socks. His hair, though bleached as blond as ever, was a bit longer than usual and curled over his forehead. She couldn't have imagined it before, in Sunnydale, to see Spike in something other than black jeans. But nights at her apartment with Dennis he had started to drop the act a little. The swagger was still there, he was still Spike, but he had also began to relax more so than Dawn imaged he had done since he was human. She cocked her head at him and thought again - no, William wouldn't be caught dead in sweats and socks.

He reached out his arms and held her hands in his so that they were laying right where there knees touched and looked at her pensively for a moment. Dawn stayed still and silent, waiting for him to speak his mind. Along with his new relaxed look, at least while they were alone, the vampire had also become rather silent and withdrawn of late. She could hear Angel and Illyria picking at him sometimes, trying to ruffle his feathers, but he rarely bantered back anymore. There was an aura about him lately, one of bemused superiority that drove Angel to distraction. The fight wasn't out of him, he still got rough and tumbly with Angel and the rest of the gang when there was a new menace, but he was quiet now. Dawn could sense that something had happened between him and Buffy before she left that had eased his nervous energy. But there was more to it, she tried desperately to stay out of his aura when he was near (just as she blocked off everyone), some had seeped through, though, despite her efforts and she sensed that his soul - William - was gaining more control over the demon inside. He fought to be near Dawn more than ever, as she lost her childhood and the fantasy of her life, he seemed to lose his anger. She had puzzled over this connection for a while and had decided not to push it. If Spike was calming, he wasn't losing his edge or his power... just calming down. Dawn often explained his new behavior to Connor as if Spike was an ADD kid who recently discovered Ridilin.

"Why do you keep going there, to that memory?" he asked softly, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up into his face once again and saw the same calm, impenetrable expression she had grown so accustomed to. She was slightly confused and frowned a little, unable to explain to herself how he knew what memory she had been bombarded with the past couple of weeks. He sighed, "I can hear you. Usually it's not... you've been living this one over and over. I can hear you talking to him. Why...?" He trailed off and stared deeply at her.

Dawn almost pulled away in frustration. "I didn't chose this one. It keeps coming up, it's blocking me and I don't know why." She sensed a tremor of energy and anger flow through him, the muscles in his arms and legs tensing and then releasing. Spike abruptly stood up and began pacing the floor. Dawn watched him, wondering still in the change in him. There he was, pacing back and forth, but though there was extreme energy and power in the body, it was a silent, restrained energy. Gone was the erratic and angry Spike from Sunnydale.

"I don't understand..." Dawn started slowly. "I know you and Xander don't exactly get along, but how could you even know who I was talking to-"

"Rotten bugger! I could kill him," Spike suddenly spat out, interrupting Dawn. She physically recoiled from the burst of anger that the vampire had let loose without warning. He turned towards her, "If you only knew, if you only understood..." he trailed off and continued pacing.

She could only catch snatches of what the vampire was muttering to himself. The words flooded her mind, disconnected, scattered thoughts that seeped across the room: "Hyenas... blasted soul... "I can't remember" ... rotten bugger... and Giles! ... as if I... rape... memory... Buffy... blasted... selfish prat... witches... hyenas... bitch..."

A light of understanding flooded Dawn's mind. Of course, when Xander had been possessed by the essence of the hyena, he had tried to assault Buffy. Dawn and the others had presumed that Xander couldn't remember what he had done and said. There had always been something fishy about that. But... he did remember. And he had had his soul when he did all of those things... said those things to Buffy and Willow. And they had forgiven him. They all had. Dawn guessed most of them had probably forgotten the event. She thought suddenly of how she... they... had all treated Spike when he had come back from his soul-quest and she suddenly felt sick. Why had a soulless lover, accustomed to violence, been treated so harshly when a human, with a soul, had been forgiven so easily? Xander had never had to atone for that, had to apologize or even acknowledge what he had done. But Spike... She got to her feet, tears in her eyes.

There was no excuse. She knew that. There was never an excuse. There should never be an excuse. And Dawn could never fully forgive him for his actions, though she had learned to trust him again. But excuses: Never. For anyone. He knew that. He had known so deeply he had decided to atone for everything that he had ever done without a soul. One event, one moment of confusion and pain had prompted a vampire to seek out a soul. To seek out eternal pain and doubt. While a similar moment in the life of an ensouled human had been passed over, forgotten, ignored. No apology had even been necessary. It had been the cause of so many jokes in the Scoobie's downtime. And suddenly she felt sick to her stomach. There was a problem here, a problem so deep it wasn't just about the Scoobies, or even about Xander. She wondered how many groups of young boys just in LA were joking, laughing about similar circumstances. How many girls were crying or afraid. She began to shake with rage, not at Xander or at Spike - but with the overwhelming sense that knowing of two instances like this in her sister's life was not rare. It tied Buffy to humanity in a way that made Dawn sick to her stomach.

Dawn realized that this was not the only thing that kept Spike and Xander from seeing eye to eye, but she realized now that there was more to Spike's hatred than anyone could have guessed. She wondered briefly how many of Xander's actions were as heartbreaking for Spike to see and shuddered.

It was a perspective she had never wanted... but then, it was the monks that had created her un-yielding trust in him. Even in that first year of her life, when her crush on Xander dissipated, she still put utter faith and trust in him completely. She shuddered at the thought. Buffy and Willow - they chose to trust him after all he had done. Anya had chosen to keep loving him, even after he had betrayed her so deeply. But there had been no reason for Dawn to put her life and soul in his hands the way that she had.

Tears were streaming down her face with reckless abandon. Spike was suddenly there, his hands on her shoulders, "I shouldn't have said those things. You should never stop loving him. You should never stop loving any of them. The witch almost killed you, and you still love her, yeah?"

Dawn nodded and shrugged. The tears she had weren't for Xander - they were for herself. For not having a choice in the first 14 years of her life, for having to re-learn her whole existence. Sometimes, like today, it smacked her right in the face. She bowed her head and allowed the tears to keep flowing. It was relaxing to just release the tension. She had kept it together for the most part since coming to LA. Everything was so hectic, first the big battle against the armies of Wolf, Ram & Hart, then settling all the Slayerettes into the Hyperion, dealing with Buffy leaving and the start of Fall classes at UCLA. There had been no time to feel the pain of what she was doing and why. Cordy had kept her social planner full, and the Slayerettes always wanted to play in the city after a days of training and nights of fighting. And so she cried. Silent, but releasing tears.

Spike held her, picking her up and carrying her to the couch, where he settled her in his lap and stroked her hair while she cried. Through her tears she saw a handkerchief float through the air towards her and she took it with trembling fingers, silently thanking Dennis... and the PTB for giving her these two dead companions to help her through this moment of her life.

After a few minutes, Dawn started to feel as if she hoped she'd never cry again. She slipped off Spike's lap onto the couch beside him, her legs still draped casually over his. "There's something I don't get," she said finally. He raised his eyebrows at her. "You weren't there... that memory keeps coming back, blocking me from everything else, but how do you know about it?"

Spike stared pensively down at his hands, chipping away at the black fingernail paint on his nails as he thought. "Faith and I... we were on the back porch..." He looked up at her, "Super-hearing and all that. We heard everything."

Dawn thought back to the last few months in Sunnydale. Other than Faith's forays into Wood's bed, she had been pretty solitary. Or so Dawn had thought. It made sense, somehow, that Faith and Spike would cling to each other, regardless (or more likely- because of) Buffy's fierce possessive behavior towards Spike in those last months.

Dawn wished suddenly that Faith had come to LA instead of going with Giles to the mid-west region. Yes, Cordy would have flipped, so it was probably for the best. But in recovering and analyzing her early memories, Dawn was beginning to think more fondly on Faith.

"I miss her," Dawn whispered.

"Buffy?"

"No... Faith."

"That's new."

"Yeah..." she smiled. "I think that's okay, though."

He smiled and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger absent-mindedly. "Part of the new-you?"

"No." Dawn paused, considering. "Going back and seeing her as she was... she was so sad. She still is, isn't she?" Spike nodded slowly. Dawn sighed, "I know that only Angel really knows, how bad it was I mean. I wish Buffy knew what it was like..." Dawn broke off, embarrassed.

"What's that, love?"

"What it's like... to not be loved."

"She's too full of love to be able to comprehend an existence like that. It's not... not in her reality," Spike said.

Dawn hesitated before responding. It was nice, most of the time, to talk things over with Spike. Especially when she needed to talk things out about Buffy. She thought back to her last conversation with Angel – she didn't know how to explain herself well to him. She was becoming accustomed to Spike filling in the blanks, understanding her point before things got too complicated to untangle.

"That's what the First Slayer told her... but I wonder if that makes her harder. ... Not harder but, inflexible in some way." She sat for a moment before continuing, "I can't understand that kind of pain. All I know is love. And there's no way to sort out the love the monks created and the love that Buffy and mom just have for me. And I won't erase my love for them. But I can empathize. I know that it's possible to not have love, to not know love even for yourself... but Buffy... She seems to not even acknowledge that it's possible to be in that position."

"If she did - what would she be fighting for?"

"So then, what does Faith fight for? I mean, now… that she's not all evil and stuff? She'll never be a Scooby, not really…" When he didn't respond, Dawn reached out and nudged Spike. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He smiled wryly. "I've got something better. Come here." He got up and walked over to the Tibetan prayer rug Oz had sent her to help with the meditations last month, settling in cross-legged where he had been just moments before. Dawn followed him and sat facing him, her knees touching his, her hands lying palm up where their knees met. Spike pulled two gold rings out of his pocket and held them up for her to see and then laid one on each of her palms and then laid his own hands over hers, so that they were both in contact with each other, and with the gold rings. "Let me show you something."

Dawn began to feel the pull of a memory and knew automatically that it wasn't hers. As the room around her disappeared, she suddenly realized why Spike had switched to an all-cotton wardrobe while in her apartment. She had noticed lately that her powers… whatever they were… were heightened by certain materials. Living materials, she thought. Hard metals, stones, leather and the like, I guess. And then the thought was gone and she was on the back porch in Sunnydale.

Even though she was accustomed to seeing Sunnydale, it was always her own memories that brought her there. Somehow, seeing her home from Spike's perspective made her sickly homesick for a moment. She walked closer to the house, glorying in the freedom of this experience. This wasn't her memory and she could move more freely around within the space. She saw Faith leaning up against the side of the house, smoking, and Spike was sitting on the steps below her. Through the open kitchen door Dawn could hear herself. Super-hearing and all that, she thought. And then suddenly Xander was standing in the doorway.

"Hey guys. You're all smoky and gloomy out here. No little monsters in need of a good killing?" Xander said awkwardly.

Spike stood up suddenly and made a move to push Xander, but Faith pushed him back. "Hey blondie, back off for now, alright? We can't afford another speech by General Buffy about playing nice." Spike raised his hands in deference to the Slayer and backed away.

"Do I offend?" Xander joked.

"Don't push it, Xand," Faith snapped. "The whole self-deprecating role is probably really charming on the little girls and makes you feel like a big-man around the house, but don't bring it out here. No one here feels sorry for you." She laughed and leaned over him, pushing him against the doorway as she put out her cigarette on the outer wall of the house, before smooshing his lips with her hand and giving him a big smack on the mouth. "I missed you big-man—"

Spike pulled Faith of Xander and pushed him gently inside. "Don't tease the twat, we don't need him getting any more hot and bothered with all those giggling girls in his apartment." Faith giggled and Xander started to protest. "And you!" Dawn could see that the grip Spike had on Xander's arm was softer than he'd like, but was still freaking Xander out a little. "The whole woe-is-me routine has gone a little stale, hasn't it? After leaving your little bird at the alter you really think mini-Buffy is going to pity you?" Spike pushed him into the house. "Only they all do, don't they? No matter what, you're part of the home team. You're the heart of the family. Stop taking it for bloody granted." Spike stormed off into the darkness.

Xander stood flummoxed in the kitchen. Faith watched him curiously. "I never… I don't—" he started to sputter, but she cut him off.

"Cut the act, fly-boy. You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"That you are in the limelight. You do have power. You're part of them whether you want to deal or not. Power isn't just about who kicks the hardest."

"You learn all that in the big house?"

"Something like that. Look, stay out of blondie-boy's way for a while. You can't know what atonement is like."

"Atonement, yeah right. You really buy that whole Spike-is-different-now thing?"

"I do. You bought it when Angel came back with a soul."

"Not willingly."

"And you were wrong. You're still wrong. So back off."

"You seem like you've got a hard-on for the big bad again, Faithy."

Faith looked at him and sighed. "God Harris. Take a chill pill. You're not the one stuck out on the porch all night. Go inside. Make with the big group hang. Forget it."

"Forget what?"

"Whatever it is that has made you so pissed off. I would've thought that you'd've gotten over your baby Buffy-lust by now. Get a clue: you are the man of the house. You are part of the team. Some of us aren't so lucky." She jumped off the porch and Dawn wiped tears off her cheek before running to catch up.

Spike was waiting in the tree line for Faith, falling in-step with her as she walked past. "Wanna beat on things?" she asked.

"I know a place," he said with a nod. Dawn realized that they were headed to the nearest cemetery. She thought it was over and started wondering why Spike was staying in the memory still. And then he started talking.

"He's the bloody heart!" he snapped. Faith stayed quiet. "He has no right to make Dawn feel sorry for him, to bring the little bit down to his level that way."

"No. He shouldn't. It's all about making himself feel big by creating a bond with someone who is stronger than him, but based on his weaknesses."

"Book-learnin' at that prison of yours?"

"A shrink," Faith giggled. "I'm not even sure what half of it means. But I get where Xander's coming from. He knows he doesn't deserve it; their trust, their faith in him."

"He deserves it." Faith stopped and looked at him in surprise. "He keeps them grounded. All that power, the witch got lost in it last year. He reminds them what they're fighting for. He's more important than he'll ever know."

"Maybe. But no one knows how important Dawn is going to be. If you ask me, her power is going to blow them all away. I can feel it when she walks by sometimes, like someday..."

"It's hard to see the little niblet with big sis walkin' around all shiny and full of light..."

"General Buffy has a way of commanding attention. But I've seen the way you look at Dawn- when you think no one else notices. Like if you aren't watching -WHAM- she'll be gone in an instant. And that's not all about the big tower and the showdown with Miss-Hell-God. That's epic, but it's not why you look after her."

The two dark heroes were silent for a moment, staring up at the stars. Spike shifted and pulled out a smoke and lighting it deftly. As he exhaled he said, "Harris won't be there forever. After this.." He waved his hands at the air restlessly, "He won't be there."

Faith said softly, "Someone should be." And then she laughed, "God that kid's gonna be a blast on the college scene. The monks sure made her body right."

Spike started to retort but his voice started to fade and the images in front of Dawn became two dimensional and then started to fade.

Dawn felt Spike's hands leave hers in the room back in LA. She fought to stay in the memory that wasn't hers, to run to Faith and hug her. They were all sisters, of a sort, Buffy, Faith, and Dawn. And she had been forgotten along the way. And then Dawn was back in LA.

Dawn looked at Spike and said softly, "Remember how I said I miss Faith?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, just want to clarify - I miss Faith."

"I know, little bit."

"So we're thinking..."

"That the Powers will let you get back to business?" The vampire shrugged, "All I'm betting is that an all-cotton wardrobe is going to be a regular thing with me. And that I already have the perfect Christmas present for you."

Dawn shook her head. "I'm still not sure -"

"I know... but I wanted to-"

"Make sure that I'm not bombarded."

"That you can relax." He cocked his head and listened for a moment.

"Connor's here," she breathed, standing up and stretching her back. "He's going to ask me to go with him for Thanksgiving..."

"Go." The vampire looked up at her, his blue eyes shining. "Go and have a merry ol' time. Forget for a few days that you're the key to reality and the Slayer's little sis and just be..."

"A normal college-student."

"A girl. Having Thanksgiving. With a family."


	7. Faith: Heaven's My Home

Author's Notes: Part of my own AU/head!canon in which Dawn moved into Phantom Dennis' apartment to go to college. All other chapters/drabbles in 'verse here: Life: An Experiment but it's not necessary to read in order to follow what all is going on

Lyrics interspersed from the Duhk's : "Heaven's My Home"

**When I was born**

**My Daddy said I was broken**

**The beginning of the end**

**Of a life I hadn't chosen**

**He taught me how to give up**

**He taught me how to work the system**

**But I never had the time**

**I never had the luxury**

_**Beep!**_

_Hi sis. Look, I know it's a long way and all, but Buff—well, she's not—_

Faith craned her neck and peered at the answering machine. The sound of the phone ringing, her alarm, her answering machine – these things did not wake her once she was asleep, but that sound – that sound of loneliness and frustration that seemed to accompany every message she had left on her machine the past couple of months – that one, long sigh followed by a short sniff… it sent Faith's body into almost complete, rigid shock. She closed her eyes and waited for the voice to continue speaking, begging – trying so hard not to sound needy and alone, almost seeing there in front of her the girl's quick shake of the head, her hair spilling over her eyes and jarred loose from being tucked behind her ears, the quick movement that told the world she was okay, even when she really wasn't.

_Anyway._ The voice was bright, cheerful, too-peppy. _It'd be great to see you if you can tear yourself away from all the work and the bad guys. It's Christmas, you know. … _

And then there was a hesitant click, Faith could once again hear the muffled sound of shouts and sirens emanating from the alley outside her dingy studio apartment. She groaned and buried her face back in the pillow. An arm – large, muscular, tattooed, snaked across her back and pulled her into an embrace, a quick nip on her shoulder, hot breath warming the back of her neck. A low voice whispered teasingly, "I thought you said you were an orphan. Is your sister as good in the sack—?"

In seconds, Faith had him pinned to the bed, face down, her knees pinning his legs and head in place, while one arm lifted his awkwardly – and painfully – back and up over his head. With her other hand, Faith traced lazy circles over the man's back, "Finish that sentence... I dare you." Her voice was sickeningly sweet. Nothing, Faith had found, warned men more than the harsh juxtaposition of physical pain and the little schoolgirl-voice she was still able to dreg up when the situation called for it. The man moaned in pain, his voice muffled by the mattress. Faith was just about to release him and kick him out the door when—

**Beep!**

Look you, the little bit's all frantic about this Christmas thing. Making me go bloody tree shopping this afternoon. Had to make some very outlandish threats I didn't mean to the boy just to get a number for you…

The voice coming through the answering machine was gruff – and decidedly British – Faith was frozen in place. Below her, the man with the tattoos… What WAS his name again? … had stopped struggling, his ear cocked to listen to the sound of – competition? More family secrets?

… _Here it is straight, Slayer. SHE can't take the time out of her busy schedule of saving the world from the big bad – to visit the little bit here for even an hour on Christmas. The witch is stuck on some assignment and the boy… Listen. I know where you are. You're coming if I have to drag your bloody corpse down here myself. _**CLICK!**

Faith didn't move, didn't breathe. Somewhere in her gut she wanted to laugh at the picture she must make at that moment, straddling the back of … Well, his name wasn't important anyhow… clad in only, she looked down. Clad only in an old Sunnydale University jersey-tee and pink panties (the package had said "boy shorts" on them , everything about her life was economical and strategic, she had bought them for a laugh in an otherwise mundanely-gray life). Faith pulled her hair out of the ponytail at the back of her neck and straight, smooth blonde hair fell over her shoulders.

"SLAYER…" The tattooed man beneath her growled and she looked into his eyes. They had turned from a basic brown to yellow, cat-eyes at the sound of the word.

That word, Her job title. Her name.

Faith smiled down at him, "Nice to meet you." In a flash, she lifted her knee and slammed it down on the demon's neck, breaking it before he knew what was coming. She stood up and lifted the jersey over her head, dropping it on the ground and staring down at the answering machine light blinking. Her hand hovered over the phone, behind her she could hear and smell the demon corpse rotting away at an exponential rate. She furrowed her brow, there were always so many things to do, so many tasks that had to be completed. Just as she turned away to find another shirt, the answering machine clicked on again.

**Beep!**

_I'm sorry if I came off a bit harsh, Slayer it's just –_

She could hear him take a long drag from a cigarette and blow the smoke out slowly. The sound made her look, reflexively, around the room for her own pack.

– _this is the first time I've seen her excited about something since—_

The silences in their lives made her feel weak in the knees, made her stomach feel hollow.

_I won't drag you out. But I could you know. Please just, at least call. So that we all know … _

Faith walked to the cracked mirror that hung over the sink in the space that doubled for a bathroom and kitchen. Hazel eyes, blonde hair, a small nose, white skin, and fine bones looked back at her. Large, dark circles hung under her eyes, the whole small face was taken up by those eyes. The thin… the too-thin body, these days, was hard and white, her small breasts barely filling the small sports bra Faith wore. She sighed at the reflection, the stranger that stared back at her. With a flick of her wrist, the gaudy, gothic-cross necklace she always wore now was on the counter and her face was her own again. Her wild, curly brown hair seemed to be reaching out as far as each tendril could go, seeking space and air and freedom after being trapped for so long. Her body, in comparison, now seemed so much larger, so much darker. The sports bra was now full almost to bursting, a small pooch of a stomach peeked over the top of the boy shorts, which stretched over wide hips and a full buttocks. The reflection was always exactly that, no matter how much rest Faith got, or how much she ate to fatten up the body that felt like thin skin rubbing over hard bones, the reflection got smaller, whiter, thinner… the eyes always hollow and tired. Meanwhile her own body plumped, thickened, got stronger and faster. She felt more and more like she was wearing a wet rag over a fat-suit. It was the only metaphor she could find that made any sense. Metaphors were usually for crap, but in this world – in this life that she pretended to live, they were the only things that seemed to make any sense.

Faith looked down at the cross and weighed it in her hand, looking up at her own, darkly-tanned face and then back at the blinking light.

This wasn't her problem. They weren't her family. This wasn't even her fight. Giles had promised she wouldn't have to fight anymore. But then Willow had come to her, persuaded her to go undercover, to be Buffy again – the way she had wanted to once. Six months. Six months walking around in that body and she was starting to go crazy. She was no where closer to her goal than she had been three, or six months ago. Xander arranged for her to work within the police department – part of the undercover unit. All of his messages were in a code Faith needed hours of Google searching in order to decipher, most only really making her realize how much of the world she had missed… This city was corrupt from the top down. Demons, humans, reality, fiction: the line had blurred for her so long ago it no longer seemed to be a straight line anymore. She wondered sometimes if it ever had been.

Faith laid the necklace on the edge of the sink and turned back to the bed… the demon, the corpse, the smell had all evaporated. She didn't even know what kind of demon he was – she stopped asking that question months ago. Faith thanked the PTB for making demons so easily disposable, and sunk back into the bed, pulling the heavy quilt over her. Her bed smelled like beer, smoke, sex, sweat, and dirt. She enveloped herself into it, into the earthy smell and gave a long sigh.

She could go to LA for the weekend. It wouldn't be a disaster if she left the city for a few days. She thought of the necklace dangling over the edge of the sink and shook her head. This was Her family and Her holiday and Her problem, there was no way Faith was going to—

**Beep!**

Faith narrowed her eyes at the machine – You've got to be kidding me! She groaned and stuffed a pillow over her ear.

_Pick up this phone right this instant._

The voice was female and assertive, but not angry. Faith hesitated and then sat up. She heard a little bit of a scuffle and then more voices arguing a bit in the background.

_Faith?_

This voice was male, and soft. Faith closed her eyes and reached for the phone, "Angel?" Her voice cracked. She hadn't really been allowed to contact anyone since she got to the city. "Is everything alright?"

She heard him sigh and then murmur something like okay and then Faith heard the phone being handed over to someone else and she gritted her teeth, "Faith?"

"Cordy." The word came out almost like a sigh and Faith could feel her resolve starting to break.

"Faith. Christmas is in two days."

Faith smiled, "So they keep telling me."

There was a long silence. "I sent him to come get you. He should be there by sunrise. You'll have to drive back most of the way but…"

"Cordy," Faith interrupted. "You really, really shouldn't have. I can't –"

"Mission, shmishion – look, I got Giles to give everyone in the States the last two weeks of the year off. She can do what she likes with those poor girls over in England or whatever… " Faith smiled, hearing Angel correct her quietly in the background. "But this is America and here, we give our Slayers a break."

Faith looked toward the necklace, dangling there. She thought of the reflection she had to see everyday, staring back at her, so tired and small. "What about **Her**? I mean, if I stay in the field, surely she can take a day – "

"No," Cordy's voice was resolute. She sighed, "No. I don't think that would do any good. Dawnie needs – "

"She needs her sister, Cordelia. Not me."

"Who says those two things aren't inclusive? Faith? Sister? Sounds like the same thing where I'm standing."

Faith hung up the phone and stood in front of the mirror, the crack running from her right temple to her left shoulder, twisting the chain for the gothic cross between her fingers, and let the tears fall free.

**Shining my shoes**

**Seems like time for wasting**

**'Cause this bright sun**

**Is the only shine I need**

**They say you only live once**

**And the lot you get's for keeping**

**But glory's gonna come**

**And make a new man out of me**

Seconds after sunrise there came a loud banging at her door, Faith stumbled across the narrow strip of ground between the bed and the door and opened it wide. She never locked it. If someone was willing to risk their lives daring that narrow flight of stairs, they were getting in the door whether it was locked or not. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and stood in the doorway, yawning.

"Buffy?" the voice was husky, incredulous, yearning.

She felt herself suddenly swept up in a cold, hard embrace that smelled like leather, smoke, and blood. A hint of whiskey touched her nostril as a bleach blonde head rested in the crook of her neck, the whole hard body shaking with relief. She pushed at him, she struggled to get away, to be free.

"Shh… shh pet," he murmured into her ear. "I know, I'm sorry. Just let me…"

Faith relaxed into his arms and let him carry her frail, blonde-haired body to the bed. Let him cradle it in his arms and rock her back and forth. Let him stroke her back and pet her hair. She closed her eyes against his gaze, his raw need. She tried to escape what this body could do, how it could make others feel. She wanted to close in on herself, let this body do what it must, let it comfort others without her own needs interfering.

He leaned his forehead against her own and fumbled at the clasp of the necklace, pulling it away before Faith could snatch it back. He kept her pinned in his lap, the necklace disappearing into one of the pockets of his long, leather jacket. She tried to pull away, but then her face was cupped in his hands and bright blue eyes were boring into hers.

"They should not have asked this of you." It was a growl. Faith squirmed under his gaze, under his presumption, under her confusion. She wanted to pull her face away, to declare defiantly how it was all her idea, how it was great fun, how easy it was to wear the costume of a Hero.

Instead, she asked the question that they had asked her, though it came out a whisper, part-whimper, a confession rather than a question: "Who else?" He let go of her face and sagged against the bed. She stood up, "Who else, Spike? I'm not seeing any volunteers for this gig." She threw her arms wide and gestured at the cramped studio, the fourth in only six months, and each one more rancid than the last. With each lead, with each step of integration into the underworld of this city, Faith found herself in smaller and smellier quarters. "It's not exactly glamorous."

His head dropped into his hands, "I'm sorry."

Faith shrugged and looked around for something to cover her narly-naked form. "Don't be."

"No." She looked over at him, his eyes filled with tears and the need for forgiveness, the gothic cross resting gently on his palm, "I am sorry… for before – "

Faith cut him off, kneeling in front of him, and covering his lips with one finger. She hesitated, not knowing what to say. Not knowing how to tell him, show him that she knew how much he needed to just to hold on to something, even if it wasn't real… even if it would never really be real in the way he so desperately needed it to be. She sighed, "She means a lot." He nodded and Faith stood, taking the necklace from him.

It wasn't enough, she knew. Her words. Her words never really seemed to be enough.

She pulled a dusty pair of jeans off the ground and started to pull them over her legs, but they wouldn't fit. None of the clothes she had actually fit her own body. She looked over at him apologetically, "I can't leave right away. I need to do some things first… And…" She gestured at the necklace. His eyes widened and then he nodded ruefully. Faith quickly pulled the necklace over her head and started rummaging through the piles of clothing that were strewn on the floor. She slipped out of the sports bra and panties and into a red halter mini-dress that hugged the small body daringly.

She heard a small gasp from behind her and turned. Spike was staring at her legs in horror, Faith looked down and watched dark, purple bruises spread over her legs and arms. "Shit!" she muttered. They would fade, Faith knew, bruises never stayed on a Slayer body for long, but she needed this body tonight. She needed it whole and bruise-free, god-damnit. She bit her lip and considered her scanty wardrobe, finally pulling black fishnets out of a drawer and pulling them over her now-rainbow colored legs. She noted a small, purple bruise on her right arm and shrugged. Buffy had been making a concentrated effort to keep her arms and face protected while she… well, while she was doing whatever it was that she was doing. Faith had asked repeatedly and had been told just to keep at the game she was playing for a while longer.

Tonight, hopefully that game would be over for good. The gothic cross swung heavily on her neck and thumped her chest, always reminding her of its presence. Always reminding her why she was good enough to play, but never good enough to be. It's all they'd ever ask of her and she was getting pretty damn good at it. Tonight, she'd win a fucking Oscar.

She shook her heel into a pair of bright red stilettos and was carefully adorning herself with jewelry when she remembered Spike, sitting on the bed – his face a whole new shade of gray. She snapped her fingers at him, "Do I have to leave you at home tonight, or can you actually be of use while you're here?"

The vampire blinked up at her, "What did you have in mind?"

Faith smiled and cringed inside when she saw his breath catch at the sight, "A mission."

**When I was born**

**My face was like the angels**

**I took my father by the hand**

**He said life won't be hard now**

**No, life's hard, I've always known that**

**I've never been handed no welcome mat**

**When I die, please don't cry**

**'Cause heaven's my home anyhow **

Faith laughed at a hulking mobster leering at her over her dirty martini and surreptitiously scanned the room as she took a delicate sip. She had nearly uncovered what linked the human mobs to the demon gangs in this city, but until this past week… well, until this morning, killing that demon in her bed, she had begun to question whether there was a connection. But then the man she took home the night before had turned out not to be a man – and that's when she knew for sure that the end was in sight. She felt as though the answer had been staring at her in the face the whole time.

That's how they had decided this game was going to work. Them. The Watchers and the Chief of Police. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was going to screw her way up the chain of command until she figured out where the connection was. Faith thought the plan was ridiculous – like something out of a bodice-ripping romance novel or a really old spy movie where all they let the women do was either screw, or die – or sometimes both.

"_It's a very basic seduction narrative," Giles had intoned while cleaning his glasses with a pristine handkerchief. At times like these, Faith wished he'd just wipe his glasses off on a shirttail like everyone else. Buffy had nodded. Willow had nodded, biting her lip. Xander had nodded… and then blushed and excused himself from the table. "Make them think they're seducing you."_

_Buffy had raised an eyebrow, "I'm sure you can handle that."_

_Faith shook her head, "Want. Take. Have. Remember? I'm not one with the subtle. I don't know the rules of this game."_

"_Faith, there is quit a lot at stake here, we need them to truly believe that Buffy has been taken in by them, seduced by them, and wants to be a part of their world. Only then will they trust her… ah – you, enough to bring her in fully."_

"_No guns blazing on this one," Buffy said seriously. "It's not just about this one city. If I – well, if there's a Buffy in the underworld, we could make a difference for a lot of people. We could stop it all from the top down instead of just bagging the little guys who stumble across our path. Once you're in, I can take over operations but… I have stuff ,,," Her voice trailed off. _

_A little voice nagged in Faith's ear, telling her how she was already worthless and dirty: what's a few more mobsters in her cootch, after all she's let in, right? After all, this is for the greater good._

"_Why can't I just go as me? Once a Rogue Slayer, always a Rogue Slayer, right?"_

_Xander guffawed from behind her, "Because Angel's a braggart, that's why. Can't stop telling everyone about his precious Prodigal Slayer." His voice dripped with sarcasm and… something else Faith couldn't quite place._

"_Faith," Willow's voice was hesitant and shy, after all this time – and even with all that power – the little witch was still a mouse when the grown ups were talking. "I know… I know this sucks. It's basically the worst thing we could ever have asked of you. But…" she looked askance at Giles and he nodded an assent. "But once this is all over, it will be all over for you. You can retire if you want."_

_They had all looked so pleased with themselves, as if telling a Slayer she could retire was the best news a girl could ever get._

_Faith narrowed her eyes almost imperceptively as a tall, muscular man walked into the bar from a private room. She had been playing poker with him and his buddy last night. She had thought the guy she took home… was it Gary? Steve? … was the hotshot. She had let him convince her to let him walk her home. She had acted the part, simpering and smiling up at him, as if he was her hero for walking two city blocks. And then she'd drugged him. She found the drug months ago, it was of demon-dimension variation, made the user feel like they'd had a long night of Passion. Oh yeah, she made up her own rules to this game. Her bed was full of gangsters who swore up and down she was the best lover they had ever had. She had tried, and probably would have been successful, playing by the rules laid out for her under Buffy's blushing gaze. But that body... it hadn't been meant to be touched that way, she knew._

She giggled at the man seated next to her and clumsily spilled her drink on his arm as she struggled to stand, calling out to the man from the night before. "Yoohoo!" he caught her just before she fell into his arms. Faith beamed up at him.

"You're drunk as a skunk," the man drawled with a hopeful gleam in his eye.

Faith shook her head and grabbed his face with her hands, "Not quite yet." She looked around frantically and then pouted, "But I was waiting for you both, where's your friend with all the wicked tats?" She gave him a playful shove in the shoulder and then feigned losing her balance again so that he would be forced to hold her more tightly.

The man chucked her chin and smiled, "I thought he was with you last night."

Faith took a deep breath, thinking over this ploy and then decided to go all in. Her lips started to quiver almost uncontrollably and then she was batting her eyes furiously to stop the tears. Within minutes they were in a back room, Faith draped over his lap, crying into his shirt, her heels abandoned on the floor. She wailed about the injustices of being a girl just trying to get by, and how he had seemed so nice but was gone when she woke up, and why oh why does she always pick the bad ones. "I-I bet you're a good one," she sniffled up at him, smiling crookedly.

"I highly doubt that, my dear," drawled a voice laced with humor. And then, there, right in front of her, was the answer.

"Ethan Rayne."

**When I die**

**When I die**

**When I die**

**Please don't cry**

Twelve hours later, Faith was driving an old pick up Spike had "found" in the city as they made their get away. They'd have to change out cars soon. She peered at the sun crowning over the horizon, someplace shady. Spike snored softly in the backseat, covered with the blanket. Faith was wearing a pair of old sweats and a hoodie that smelled… well, it could be worse. She could still be wearing that old gothic cross and someone else's face. Ethan Rayne. One name, that's all it took and a team of Slayerettes had hit every demon-run operation in the city. Willow and Giles had been keeping tabs on Ethan for years, they finally paid off. All they needed was for Faith to prove he was involved. He wasn't the leader, sure. But the whole intricate mess was now under new management, with Ethan gone, "Buffy" was able to step in. Apparently that's how it works - you want to be the lapdog for a head honcho? You kill the last one and all his lackies.

Faith had handed over the gothic cross to a little witch-Slayerette that Willow had brought over from China. Her parents were crime lords and this girl knew the business. For seduction - send in Faith, for business management - send in the crime lord baby. Somewhere that made logic-sense. Faith didn't care. She was done with that assignment. She knew there'd be another one, whenever Giles said "last one" she knew to be suspicious. But it didn't matter. It was Christmas Eve.

**Life's hard, I've always known that**

**I've never been handed no welcome mat**

**When I die, please don't cry**

**'Cause heaven's my home**

Dawn woke up when she felt someone else crawl into bed with her, she looked up and saw the sky was almost pink with dawn. Usually Dennis made sure to close the blinds at dawn for Spike's sake, but as he hadn't, she could only guess that the vampire was still out on his mystery errand. She thought about turning to the warm body beside her, knowing from the warmth that it had to be human at least. In her sleep-clogged mind she thought maybe it was one of the Slayerettes (it wouldn't be the first time that one of the lesbian Slayerettes had tried to get Buffy's sister over to their way of thinking) or even Connor - when Spike disappeared for days at a time, he would sometimes move from the couch to her bed after a nightmare. But only when the vampire wasn't in residence.

An arm pulled her into an embrace, a warm face rested against her and a soft, husky soprano said, "Happy Christmas, kid."

Dawn smiled and pulled her sister's arms tighter around her and snuggled down into the hug, "Faith?"

"Mmmm…" Faith hummed in her ear. Spike's arms were suddenly there, too, wrapping around them both, his cold body behind Faith's … and then Connor's warm chest was cradling her head.

Dawn grinned and wiped a tear away. It was all she had wanted for Christmas, a family to hold her and keep her warm. She smelled Dennis' handiwork going on in the kitchen and she thought of the day ahead of her, with Cordy and Angel and all the rest talking and laughing and doing the big Christmas thing. This was better. This silent hug. She felt Faith's tears starting to trickle down her neck and knew - this family. This small group was more than any of them could have asked for. This dog-pile was their very own Island of Misfit Toys.

Faith lifted her head and caught Connor's eye, mouthing ONE, TWO, THREE and then Dawn was the victim of the most epic pillow and tickle-fight of all time.


	8. A Slip

Title: A Slip  
Fandom: BtVS/AtS and tVD crossover  
Characters/Pairings: Dawnie, Elena  
Rating: PG  
Series: Life- An Experiment  
Disclaimer: In Joss we trust | I haz no beta, all mistakes are my own. Also - done in a rush!  
Summary: There's this little town where vamps can walk in the day

"There's been a slip."

Dawn looked up from the stack of papers that currently littered the desk she had co-opted at the Hyperion. Occasionally Cordy would sit very still near the desk and sniffle a little, stroking the scratched hardwood... but only when she thought no one was watching. Dawn knew within seconds of sitting down that it had once belonged to Wesley. It still made her nervous, sitting here and using this space that was so full of someone else's memories.

"Illyria?"

But the blue-haired king had picked up the snow-globe Xander had sent from Tokyo and Dawn knew there was no getting answers now. She squinted down at the ancient Sumerian text she was trying to translate and wrinkled her nose. It was just about time for a coffee break... make that ice cream.

"There's been a slip!"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I heard you the first time. Now leave me alone."

A set of brawny, work-hard hands slammed down on the books, causing Dawn to jump.

"Oz?"

"Dawn, there's been a slip."

"This should be interesting," Illyria murmured before dropping the snow-globe to the ground and walking slowly out the door, brushing past a very worried Cordy and Spike.

Dawn looked up at Oz expectantly, but he seemed to have a morbid fascination with the broken snow globe on the ground. She heard him mutter under his breath, "Something that doesn't belong..."

"Oz? You're kinda freaking us all out, here." Cordy's voice cracked a little, causing Spike to raise his eyebrows quizzically.

Oz straightened up and shook his head, as if to clear his vision. "It's like this, Willow sent me word a few weeks ago that there was some weird rumblings in Virginia. And then last week, Xander mentioned some weird vampire sightings. We didn't think much of it, sent a Slayer troupe in to investigate... they aren't like _our_ vampires..." his voice trailed off and he looked at Dawn significantly.

Spike scoffed in the hallway, "Lost his bloody mind. All vamps are the same..." Cordy elbowed him hard in the ribs, "oof! I mean... you know... _most_ of the time."

Most of this exchange was lost on Dawn.

"Not like... _ours_?" Dawn stood up. "To Virginia."

Oz nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Mystic Falls_ had a bar, rather than a coffee shop, Dawn discovered after a few minutes of aimlessly driving. The air inside almost crackled with the overabundance of the supernatural. Dawn felt almost nauseous as she settled into a secluded booth. A charmingly normal blonde boy took her order and smiled a little too cheerfully. She sensed a couple of drunk men at the bar were sizing her up, but she tried to ignore them.

She was there to find Betty. Or... Beth... was it Bonnie? Something that started with a B. A high school student with enough magick to send Mystic Falls back to ... wherever it belonged. Oz encouraged her to make it quick, to not get involved in the local drama. Apparently a Slayer that they had sent in the week previous had become attached to the town and refused to leave, or to do her job. The very idea of vampires walking around in the daylight and living alongside humans filled Buffy with all sorts of Slayer-angst.

Dawn sipped her soda and wondered how, exactly, she was supposed to find a witch in all this mess... when a girl walked in the door. A girl just about her height, with long dark hair - not unlike her own - and a small, petite face that reminded Dawn of her sister. She was laughing when she entered, her hair swaying away from her face. She was accompanied by a young, blonde female vampire who was also giggling, and a very pretty girl with long, dark, gently curling hair...

_Oh_ Dawn straightened. _Bonnie_

**Three hours later**

Dawn had watched the three girls play pool, eat a mass quantity of french fries and cheeseburgers, and talk about everything under the sun. The blonde little busboy kept them well-supplied, hovering always near the table... though Dawn couldn't put her finger on his _exact_ interest. The two "men" at the bar, who had been steadily drinking since long before Dawn arrived, were also surreptitiously interested in the trio's every move, but neither had moved from their stools. At one point two boys - one possibly a werewolf, but Dawn couldn't quite figure him out - came in, played an awful game of pool while actually watching the trio, began arguing and both left in a huff.

Dawn yawned and pulled out a few bills to leave at her table. Tonight she wouldn't confront Bonnie. Tonight she was going back to the hotel and getting a good sleep. Vampires apparently didn't hunt in this town and so she was pretty sure another night wouldn't do much harm.

On her way out she brushed past another young vampire with tall hair. She kept her laughter in until she was outside.

"Why are you laughing? You look kinda nuts."

Dawn looked over her shoulder and drew in a breath, the young blonde vampire had her arm around the brunette and was smiling at her.

"Oh it's just... that guy..." she snickered. "He reminds me of someone I know," she shrugged.

The brunette walked closer toward her, "Someone you know?" She cocked her head to the side, "Someone you know... well?"

Dawn nodded. "Very well."

"Like family?" Bonnie whispered.

Dawn didn't hesitate, "He _is_ family."

The girl touched her arm gently, "I understand."

Dawn looked over at her, this thin girl who somehow reminded her of Buffy, but also of herself... "We are the same..." This girl who seemed like someone she must of known once, she wasn't quite human...

_Dawn?_

It was sudden, but Dawn felt as if she must know everything about this girl, this place, these friends... she looked at the girls all together and realized for the first time how envious she had been while watching them.

It became clear, in that simple touch from the girl, how lonely Dawn felt when watching these girls share their lives so simply with each other.

_Dawnie..._

Dawn grabbed the girl's hand, filled with a sense of urgency: "What's your name?"

As if names mattered, they were so similar, she could walk away now and still know this girl as well as she knew herself.

"Elena." The answer was simple and direct. Almost as if she had expected Dawn to already know. It was the tone that Buffy gave sometimes, after a years of being known...

_Dawnie?_

... it was hard to go back to being unknown.

"I'm Dawn." She nodded to the other two, one of whom she needed to talk to ... but about what she couldn't remember...

_Dawn!_

... there was a mission at stake, she was sure.

"Elena...?" There were so many things Dawn wanted to ask.

How do you live, knowing...

_Dawn, please?_

How do you get up every day, without trying to deny...

_Dawn, it's time..._

"Dawn - you're slipping," Bonnie's eyes were misting up with tears.

_PLEASE?_

"Can I come back?" Dawn grasped for the trio's hands. There were things they needed to know about her world... there were things she had to know about theirs... there was so much-! They could have been-!

_Dawn blinked and gasped, choking on air being thrust into her lungs. She looked up at Spike's worried face staring at her. She was sitting on her bed, curled up as if she had been meditating... had she been?_

_"Spike? How long?"_

_"Only a few hours... I only woke you because..." he gestured toward her face and she reached up._

_Her face was wet with tears, stiff from the salty rivers drying into her skin. She rubbed her hands together, trying to get the blood flow to return to her fingers. "Sorry," it was less than a whisper but only slightly more than a breathe._

_Spike let out a huge sigh and sprawled out on the bed, "'s been a long day."_

_Dawn wrinkled her nose, "Is that goo?"_

_"Intestines, more likely," he said with a smirk. _

_Just as she was about to squeal and kick him off her clean comforter, Conner poked his head through the door and held up a bag of what appeared to be take-out from her favorite Thai restaurant. "Food?"_

_Dawn twinkled a little and ran to the living room, grasping at the remote, "Guys. You are going to __**love**__ this show!"_


	9. Late Nights and Early Mornings

**Author's Note:** Somewhat set in my personal AU (post-NFA) (purely by some weird pre-set default in my brain) in which Spike is with Dawn in LA and Buffy is (usually) ... elsewhere. Lyrics from James Marsters' "Smile" 

_In, I'm falling in_

_I didn't want to_

_Not so fast boy_

_Slow _

_Don't wanna hurt the girl_

_Give her a pretty box_

_You'd better fill it_

He sings in the shower.

Dawn attempts to find this amusing, endearing even. Anything other than annoying. It's only because _she_ is here, anyway. While she works at finding the sunny singing coming from her bathroom pleasant and not obnoxious (at 2am!) she also works at pretending that she knows what the singing means... what the rumpled bedspread in her guest room means...

Huffing softly, Dawn turns on her back and stares at the ceiling. She can hear the soft pad of bare feet on the tile in the kitchen hovering just underneath the bellowing drawl of the singing vampire... just underneath the sound of running water. She listens intently as one ... now two ... mugs are taken out of the dishwasher and set softly on the countertop. She hears the distinct sucking sound of the fridge door opening, the soft click of tupperware being opened, and the distinct tinny beep of a microwave being set. Almost immediately the scent of warm blood assaults her nostrils and causes her stomach to growl... after months of figuring out a shared schedule, Dawn has started to eat in the middle of the night - and the mere scent of blood in the microwave (after a slight twinge of disgust) now causes an odd salt-craving.

She listens to him sing in the shower, listens to her being domestic in the kitchen, and wonders whether it's worth it to get out of bed. She thinks long and hard over the stock in her cabinets as she listens to the sound of juice being poured into the second mug. Her eyes close and she's close to giving up, leaving the secret stash of sweet-potato chips hidden behind the cereal for the morning... she's almost lulled to sleep by the sound of his voice floating through the wall when the distinct crinkle and _RIP_ of a bag being opened drifts through the thin walls.

Before she even has a moment to contemplate her actions, the bag of secret chips is in her own hand and a set of bright green eyes are glaring at her from across the kitchen.

"These were hidden for a reason."

"You didn't even know I was coming."

"You're not the only thief who pokes their nose through my cupboards these days."

They're standing there, in an epic stare-off, eyes blazing, hair on end, when she realizes that the singing has stopped. Spike is standing in the doorway of the bathroom, steam rising behind him, with only a small towel wrapped around his thin waist and an amused smile on his face.

"I told you to stay out of the little bit's stash, pet."

Dawn looks over at her sister and tries to hold back a huge grin. It's serious business, this sisterly aggression, and is not to be taken lightly. Especially at this ungodly hour. Especially over food. Especially after months of being separated... but Buffy's face is bright red, her hair a matted mess, and is clad only in one of Spike's black button-downs - Dawn resists the urge to think that the blush is anything other than either (a) embarrassment at the relative state of undress of... everyone OR (b) rage at her baby sister stealing a chip-bag right out of her hand... and Dawn ends up giggling regardless, holding out the offensive bag as a peace offering.

They sip tea/juice/blood around the bar for the next couple of hours, chatting and laughing and pretending not to yawn. Dawn writes off her 7am class after a half hour, much to Buffy's chagrin... but there's only so much time before she'll be gone again, before there will only be the two of them in the apartment again, before reality sets in.

And there, sitting at the bar in her own kitchen, Dawn watches her sister with the man that loves her. She laughs with him when he is shooed off to put on clothing. She notices, possibly for the first time, the soft look in his eye that comes when Buffy talks. It isn't a hidden gaze, a hidden softness - Dawn is accustomed to that. To a softness that is only revealed when no one is looking, when there is nothing to lose in revealing it - there is none of that this night. This long night, this long awaited night. She notices, too, the soft touches the two share, the way Buffy leans into him when he's talking, the way they move and shift to make room for each other. Even after years of separation, it is as if the two fit together far better than ever before.

As the hours slip by, when the sun rises and Dennis, out of habit, closes all the shades ... when the door opens and Connor begins to hand out pastries and coffee... she watches them respond to each other. Watches her sister learn what she now is able to take for granted. Watches him hiccup around her, relearning and remembering simultaneously. Watches the two try not to look at each other, try to make _her_their priority...

When she pushes Connor out of the apartment later (amid many a protest) and locks the door behind her, she honeslty hopes, without getting a bit squeamish, that they make really great use of the small amount of time they have. (Even though Spike_ will_ be expected to wash the sheets.)


	10. Surviving

**Title:** Surviving  
**Fandom:** _BtVS/AtS_  
**Rating:** G  
**Paring/Characters:** Part of my LA-Dawn 'verse: Dawn, Spuffy, Phantom-Dennis, Connor (mentioned), Faith  
**Word Count:** ~2300  
**Disclaimer:** The PTB own everything; all I do - I do out of love. All mistakes my own.  
**Summary:** Dawn has a date night that turns out... unexpected. ((Title referring to facebook's pirate-English settings, which likes to inform me when someone has "survived another year" - aka: birthdays))  
**Author's Note:** I wanted smooshy Spuffy/Dawn domestic!fic and it only seemed fitting to write sister-domestic-fic for a friend's birthday, since I love her so much it's stupid.

Dawn entered the apartment with a sigh and leaned against the door, ready to revel in the silence of her own apartment. Alone. With a bowl of ice cream. And possibly crack-tv. Blaring loud, weepy tv with lots of passionate embraces and slamming of doors and people waking from comas. She leaned more heavily into the heavy, sturdy door-

_Crash_

"I told you to stay out!" the shrill female voice emanated from the kitchen - as well as some more crashing and banging of what sounded like either cookwear against counters - or limbs against cupboards.

Dawn stood straight and leaned away from the door, her face grew pale - the dark circles under her eyes growing more prominent. She looked around, the door had been locked when she walked in, right? This was definitely her apartment, right? It wasn't as if she was in the habit of walking in the wrong door - but after a day like today... no. There were her line of boots and her old running shoes in a heap at the door, the stack of history books on the coffee table - the occult and demonology tombs littering the floor and all other surface areas of the room. She was in the right apartment, all right.

She lifted her knee to her waist quietly - as the racket from the kitchen continued, now accompanied by an awful smell - and pulled the wooden stake out of her knee-high boot. It wouldn't do much good against a normal intruder, but it was the weapon the little sister of the Slayer line was most comfortable with. (She also had mace tucked into her purse in case of an emergency, but it was relatively useless - a defense mechanism she was not trained to rely on, nor comfortable carrying.)

Setting down her bag and keys as quietly as possible, Dawn edged through the living room towards the kitchen. "Dennis!" she hissed, looking around for a sign of her ghost. What good was a resident ghost if intruders were just able to waltz into her kitchen while she was out? For that matter - what good was having an overprotective vampire roommate if he was never around to save her apartment from weird smells?

This, of course, should have been the moment when Dawn realized that there really was no way the sounds emanating from her kitchen were from any sort of burglar or home invasion team. When she turned the corner - peeking with an inclined, cocked head and saw her sister, quite literally covered head to foot with flecks of flour, her hand on one hip as she scowled down at a cookbook propped on on the palm of her other hand - only then did it occur to Dawn that her sister was in town. That Buffy had flown in earlier that week and was staying in her apartment while she checked in with the local Slayers. She probably should have remembered that.

Buffy looked up and saw Dawn lurking in the doorway, her travel-spike held above her head, and narrowed her eyes, "What the hell are you doing? Where have you been?! Look what happens when you aren't here to help with dinner!" Buffy gestured to the general disarray in the kitchen. Truthfully, Dennis and Spike did most of the cooking because Dawn had so many late classes that semester - _and the poor little bit still had to sleep, didn't she?_ But still, it was just like Buffy to blame her own mess on Dawn - even her absence had some dire effect on her older sister.

Dawn dropped her hand to her side and looked right at her, trying not to see the kitchen, trying really _really_ hard not to see the catastrophe her sister had created in _her_ kitchen. "Wha-" _the frack were you trying to make, anyway?_ she started to say. But instead her shoulders slumped and she just turned from the room, slugging to the couch and collapsing into it, her eyes welling up with tears as she sunk down, wrapping her arms around her legs; her accusation lost in favor of self-pity.

A tissue wafted through the air toward her, but Dawn swiped at it, "Knock it off. I'm holding you responsible for the kitchen. Who the frack gave her flour?!" The tissue rose up and shook furiously at her, before storming to the kitchen, it's departure starting a whole new symphony of banging, clattering, and running water. Dawn sighed and leaned her head back into the couch, looking up at the ceiling.

"Dawnie?" Buffy's face suddenly appeared, hovering over her with that special blend of "big-sister-worry" hiding under "I'm not going to push you, but?" mixed with "but I was mad at you!" ... emotions only a sister can know as intimately. Dawn brushed a tear off her cheek and looked through the troubled face as if it weren't there.

It was too much, this day - this night - coming home and forgetting she was here... only now she was so very _here_ and looking right at Dawn, wanting to be involved, wanting to help. Sure, she'd been in town for a few days - but the first couple of nights Dawn had sought asylum with Connor to escape Buffy and Spike's ... _antics_... and the rest of the time, Buffy had been so overwhelmed with the Slayerettes, Dawn had quite literally forgotten she was in town at all. How was she supposed to explain to this now-frowning blonde, who battled monsters daily, this superhero - how she had just had a _bad day_ and needed a solid night of mind-numbing tv and greasy snacks?

Buffy's face disappeared and Dawn vaguely heard her rustling around under the din of Dennis' tantrum. She took a deep breath and thought momentarily of the tv remote, inclining her head for a moment to determine where it was. _Oh_. Over on the dvd-case next to the television. A good four feet away. She leaned her head back against the couch, _Fuck that_. She lazily unzipped her boots and let them fall to the floor, curling her legs back into herself.

Wallowing. That's what this night needed. Some good, old-fashioned wallowing. With ice cream. _If Buffy hasn't eaten my stash_.

The couch shifted next to her and she was tilted through sheer force of gravity into leather and cigarette smoke. Spike. She rested her head against his shoulder, momentarily wondering why he hadn't protected her kitchen, and then let it go as his arm gently pulled her in closer to him. His chin rested on her head, "Bad date?"

Dawn laughed out of the sob that erupted from her at the simple question, "The _worst_."

She could sit there and tell her vampire how she had nearly been stood up, how he had kept her waiting, how she had laughed it off and pretended to have only just arrived (though the entire restaurant had watched her pick at bread and wine for over a half hour - thank god for the fake id), she could tell him how they had sat there in uncomfortable silence, how he had made her pay - even though he had asked her to begin with, she wasn't shallow, but she did believe those who do the asking: do the paying - how he had spent the whole night checking out and flirting with every female server, how he had walked out with the hostess' phone number (a younger girl, maybe 17 if that) and _bragged_ about it in the parking lot... she could say all these things aloud. But sometimes it was better to just be silent, to sit on the couch and cry it out into the shoulder of a vampire.

_'Cause that's probably about the most normal thing that has happened all day_.

Buffy was standing in front of them, Dawn finally noticed, hands on her hips - in a new outfit not covered in flour, the sweater looking suspiciously similar to one hanging in Dawn's closet. "A date?! You're late coming home because you were on a date?!"

They both looked up at her with blank faces; it was a stupid question, Dawn had been looking forward to this date for weeks. Had been dancing around this boy in class and on campus for weeks, had been so excited - _they were brand new boots_ - had come home beaming when he finally asked her out earlier that week.

Aside from all of that, it was _early_. Not even past nine o'clock. Most of her classes let out after nine. Most nights she was at the library until at least ten at night. Sometimes she spent the night at the Hyperion if she stayed late enough after dinner with Cordy. There were nights when she was home earlier, nights when Connor dragged her home and tucked her onto the couch with a good book - nights when she was able to relax for an hour or so before beginning again. Before being called by Angel for research assistance. Before tackling one of the massive texts that littered her apartment.

So they just looked up at her, both unsure what to say. Or, rather, both absolutely sure what they _shouldn't_ say.

_You aren't here._

_You don't know._

Buffy looked down at them, her face turning a strange pink color, her voice a strange, strangled octave as she said, "And it was... that bad?"

Spike stroked Dawn's hair and looked over at her, tilting his head down to where her face was smooshed into his shoulder. "It was that bad," she laughed. "It's the kind of date you tell your grandkids about because there's no way they'll believe it is true."

Buffy nodded at her sister's words, as if deciding something. She stalked out of the room and Dawn nuzzled deeper into Spike, relaxing for a moment. Only Buffy came back - suddenly - grabbing Spike and hauling him off the couch as she slapped a wad of cash into his palm, nearly knocking Dawn to the floor. Buffy put a hand on Spike's shoulders and looked at him, her face blank and her tone serious.

"We are going to need a few necessary items."

"Necessary items?"

"Firstly, two pints of ice cream - one pistachio, the other chocolate. Secondly, a large pizza - half anchovies and half Hawaiian. Thirdly, bitch-beer - no nasty wine coolers, something that tastes like candy. Fourthly, a Matthew Mcconaughey movie - something where he's half naked through most of it so we won't notice from our food coma how awful it is. Also, every trashy fashion magazine you can get your hands on. And lastly," her tone grew almost apologetic, "Get the hell out." Spike jerked back and Dawn gaped up at them, now laying prone on the couch - the position she had ungracefully landed in when her pillow had been jerked away so unceremoniously. Buffy drew him into a hug, "I didn't mean - just for tonight. It's girl's night, okay?"

Dawn felt like her heart was going to burst right out of her chest; she and Buffy hadn't had a good, old-fashioned girl's night with bad food, worse movies, and lots of ice cream since... Since probably before she was Real. Having a sister who was a superhero meant less girl-time and more "here, let me tend that wound" time or "I'll tell mom you were here" time. _Being_ a girl who wasn't really a girl meant less girl-time; living half a world away meant less sister-time. There really just wasn't _normal_ time together - there wasn't enough of it, there wasn't enough space for them it always seemed.

(And it didn't seem at all ironic to Dawn that for both of them, the moments that seemed most "normal" - the normalcy that other girls took for granted, generally included a certain blonde vampire. Because when nothing is normal, you have to redefine everything. And sometimes sitting on the couch with your best friend and brother - or in Buffy's case, lover - meant that you found normalcy for a moment, even if it was with an undead.)

Buffy looked over Spike's shoulder and pointed at Dawn (she could see her sister standing on her toes to peer over his back down at her and it was so ... _girlish_... it seemed poignant, a waking dream), "PJ's. Now. I'll gather up the nail polish and eyeshadows and make popcorn and find a bad 80's teen flick to bide us over until he gets back with our supplies. Got it?"

Spike turned while Buffy was still standing on tip-toes, with his left arm still around her slight waist, and smiled down at Dawn. He pinched Buffy, leaned down to kiss Dawn on the forehead (as she reminded him not to forget an order of cheesy bread with that pizza), and walked out of the apartment whistling. On the landing outside, he paused to light a smoke and smiled as he took in a deep breath, letting the smoke linger where working lungs once had been.

This would be a moment where another man would have said something nostalgic and manly to the night sky. Would have waxed poetics at an unseen camera about how much he loved his family, his women, how nice it was to see them together and so happy. But Spike wasn't one prone to monologuing. Or anyway - not unless the occasion called for delicious mockery.

Inside, the sisters who lived so far from each other - the sisters who were realizing that they were having to make this up as they went for the first time - the sisters who were anything but normal - settled into each other, wearing ridiculous pajamas and giggling for the sake of giggling.

Dawn was sure no one had said anything remarkably funny, yet there they were.

After a few moments, Buffy turned to her little sister and brushed away a strand of loose hair, "I can't remember how this works. Are we missing something?"

Dawn sat very still, her face pensive, "We're missing ... but I don't think you'll like it."

Buffy bristled under the insinuation as a bowl of popcorn drifted towards them with the air of an apology, "Anything you want. We never get - _**got**_ to do this. Let's do it right."

Dawn's face broke into a wide grin.

Faith brought whiskey.

And even though she woke in the morning with a hangover, tangled up in her sisters' limbs where they had all crashed on the large bed, Buffy knew the night would have been incomplete without it.

Without her.

And even if one night of normalcy didn't make up for years of the strange and bizarre, of being heroes and mythic figures first - of being sisters second, of the two becoming so muddled there was no separation anymore; Somehow being a sister _meant_ being mythic - that being mythic somehow defined what it meant to be a sister... and in all the time since it had never gotten easier to find a new footing; but in that night, it was still just them.

And that was beginning to be enough.


End file.
